


Remember Me (The Story of Us)

by National_Nobody



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angry Bart is Scary Bart, Artemis Crock/Zatanna Zatara (referenced), Background Tim/Cassie, Bart gets his new KF suit, Best Friends, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Relationship, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Mutual dumbassery, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Slow Updates, Supermartian Wedding, Tender Sex, The Squad goes camping, Tim Drake is longsuffering, Traci Thirteen/Natasha Irons (referenced), Tye Longshadow/Asami Koizumi (referenced), Wholesome Family Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-03-06 21:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18859702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/National_Nobody/pseuds/National_Nobody
Summary: When Psimon wipes years of memories from Bart's head, he awakens to a shocking truth: he already saved the world. Or at least, so he thought. If Barry is telling him that he's still on mission, and that Blue Beetle still needs to be eliminated, then who is he to question it? Even if Jaime actually seems...really sweet. Which is weird. Although, not as weird as already being undercover as his boyfriend just to get Jaime vulnerable.Barry would never lie to him, though. Surely there couldn't be THAT much more to the story somewhere in those seven years of memories he was missing...right?





	1. Whammied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this fic has been sitting in my drafts for YEARS, but now that there's finally new YJ content, I figured it was high time I finish the damn thing. I'm not including much of anything from S3 since I started this so long ago (other than references to Bart's new KF suit). Basically, I was inspired by the last season of Chuck for the original prompt and then this spiraled out of control from there.

Bart’s head hurt like hell.

He groaned, bringing a hand to his hair. There was no bandage, which was a good sign, but the bed beneath him felt far more comfortable than it had any right to be. Since when did that kind of luxury exist anymore?

He tried to focus past the persistent ache. There was breathing next to him. He wasn’t alone.

“Bart?”

A man’s voice. He didn’t recognize it.

He blinked, the light harsh on his eyes as they adjusted. The room was...clean. Weirdly clean. And who was…?

His heart panged painfully, reeling. He blinked again, harder.

“...Flash?” he croaked.

Barry Allen smiled down at him from a hospital chair. “Hey, kiddo.”

So that's what his voice sounded like. Wow. Too stunned to answer, he merely swallowed dryly and breathed.

“Welcome back to the world of the waking,” Barry continued, leaning back in his seat. “Certainly took you long enough. How are you feeling?”

Bart stared, drinking in the physical features they shared as if they might jump off Barry’s face if he were to look away. He couldn’t believe it. _Barry_ Allen. His _late_ grandfather. In front of him. Healthy and fit and _alive_. _The Flash was still alive._

“Bart?” Barry asked, concerned.

Bart cleared his throat. “I—this might sound like a weird question, but what year is it?” he asked shakily.

“It’s alright, I figured you’d be pretty disoriented,” Barry reassured. “It’s 2023.”

Bart’s pulse spiked in surprise. That didn’t make sense. True, Barry looked young, not a single streak of silver mixing with the blonde of his short, tousled hair, though his eyes betrayed some exhaustion. But...Bart wasn’t far back enough. _How_ was Barry _alive_ if he hadn’t gone far back enough?

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Barry prompted gently.

“I...I don’t know,” he said dazedly. “2023, huh? That’s...not what I had in mind, but okay. So then, how long have I uh...been around here?”

That shot Barry’s eyebrows up. Wow, they really did have the same green eyes. Barry ran a hand across his mouth.

“That far back, huh? Guess Psimon whammied you harder than I thought. You don’t remember coming to the past?”

Bart thought back to Nathaniel—to the ruins of Mount Justice and the stabilizing bead Nathaniel had given him.

_“You understand the trip to the past will fry the machine’s circuitry. This is a one way ticket.”_

_“Does_ this _look like a future worth returning to?”_

“I...remember planning to. Just about everything was ready,” Bart said. “Apparently it didn’t work exactly how I thought it would, though.”

Barry frowned. “Actually, kiddo, it did. I’m...not sure how else to put this. Originally, you travelled back to 2016. You’ve been here for over seven years.”

Bart’s eyes widened. “ _Seven_ years? Wait, really?”

“Really, really,” Barry said with a small smile. “But, hey, don’t worry about that right now, okay? All you need to know is that you were brain blasted by a telepath named Psimon while out in the field, but we got him and you’re safe now. Just rest for the moment until the pain ebbs, and then we’ll see if anything comes back to you. Alright?”

“Okay,” Bart said, unable to help the awed smile spreading over his face as Barry looked at him. So his time machine had worked. He was _actually_ back in the past. He’d already made sure that Barry survived. And if it was already 2023 and the world was still standing, then…?

Barry chuckled, interrupting his thoughts.

“Been awhile since you last looked at me like that,” he teased. “I won’t go anywhere, kiddo. Promise. Get some rest.”

Bart nodded, then winced. Moving his head was a bad idea. Barry was right, he needed to sleep it off. He could figure out the rest later.

It was difficult to convince his eyes to close, but Barry wasn’t getting up. He’d be right there.

Man, major headache or no, that was _so_ crash.

 

 

+

 

 

“So no one else knows I’m still on mission except us?” Bart asked seriously, awake again hours later.

“That’s right. We can’t afford to risk messing up the timeline more than we already are,” Barry explained.

Bart exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.

“What about Batman? I thought he was— _is_ —notorious for always finding out everything.”

“Batman and I have an understanding,” Barry shrugged. “He may not be a trusting guy, but he respects that when I keep something from the League, which is rare, that I must have my reasons.”

“Right,” Bart said distractedly.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just... _all_ of my research pointed to 2016 as being the turning point,” Bart said, unsure. “If it’s already 2023, and Beetle’s still off mode, then we should be in the clear already. Why am I still on the mission?”

“Postponing disaster isn’t the same as avoiding it, Bart,” Barry said patiently. “Like I said, you were able to _delay_ the Reach’s plans. However, about a year ago, we discovered that so long as Beetle lives, the danger still stands. It was noble, what you tried to do, but time resists change. It _wants_ to follow a particular course. Blue Beetle is destined to betray us, one way or another.”

Bart nodded, staring down at his hands. “Does he have any idea?”

“No. He thinks the danger has long passed. As far as I know you never even told him your...original intentions.”

“Why did I change them in the first place?” Bart asked quietly. “What stopped me?”

“What can I say? You’re a Flash,” Barry smiled sympathetically. “Trying to see the best in people is sort of our M.O.”

A small smile bubbled to his lips at the compliment.

“You know, my dad used to say that the speed thing was just a tool. We could use it to do incredible things, sure, but so could some bad guys.” He looked warmly at Barry. “The speed is crash, but your _real_ superpower? He always said it was your optimism. Your faith in people.”

“A superpower you inherited, clearly,” Barry said, ruffling Bart’s hair. “I only wish it were enough this time, kiddo.”

Bart’s grin faded, a stoniness settling over his face. “Right. Well, it’s not like I’m not prepared,” he shrugged. “I came here expecting this to be the only choice. In fact, since we’ve known for a _year_ , I’m kind of surprised I haven’t done it already.”

“You say that like taking down a trained hero wearing some of the most highly advanced AI-based armor in the galaxy is a walk in the park,” Barry smiled humorlessly.

Bart’s cheeks heated.

“Even if it were,” Barry continued, “you realized you would have to bide your time until the right moment, or else risk the entire League and the Team turning against you. There’s a reason we have a strict no kill policy after all.”

“But now you’re thinking we’re running out of time,” Bart clarified.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Barry sighed. “Which is why you losing your memory couldn’t come at a worse moment. But, no sense worrying over things we can’t control. Luckily for us, you’ve already set yourself up in the perfect position.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this may come as a bit of a shock to you,” Barry said carefully, “but, when you go back, he’ll see you as his boyfriend.”

 

 

+

 

 

 _‘I hate to say it, Bart, but you’ll have to do your best to keep your memory loss a secret from the Team, as well as this conversation. We can’t risk Beetle trying to take advantage,’_ Barry had told him. Bart inhaled deeply, fixing a smile on his face. Well, no problems there. In the future, lying well meant staying alive. That sort of deception came second nature to him by now.

The suit, though. That...would take some getting used to.

 _“Wait,_ I’m _Kid Flash?”_ he’d asked Barry excitedly, admiring his red and yellow reflection and noting proudly the inches time had added to his height. “ _That is so_ crash! _Does that mean there are_ two _Flashes?”_

 _“...No, Bart. Just you and me,”_ Barry had answered quietly.

 _"Wait, but,”_ his had stomach knotted, “ _if you’re the only Flash and I’m Kid Flash...what about Wally?”_

He subconsciously adjusted the rosy visor over his eyes. The goggles had been a little too big, still.

He hacked the old Zeta tubes with surprising ease, turning the voice announcer off so as not to alert anyone of his entrance to the Watchtower. He had his story ready, but no sense in charging in without a quick assessment first.

He followed the sound of voices as silently as he could manage, peering around the corner as he reached their source.

“Status report, Beta. Any sign of him yet?” Batgirl asked, manning the monitors.

“Negative, Batgirl. Trail’s gone cold on our end.”

“Gamma here, same thing. Checked the whole place over three times. No dice.”

“Alpha?” Batgirl asked.

“Nothing. And I’m starting to think I should’ve taken you up on that sedative. Lover boy over here is driving us up the wall.”

“Well, you know how much I love saying ‘I told you so,’” Batgirl said dryly. “Report in if anything changes.”

“So, we still have no idea where he is,” Wonder Girl said, voice strained.

“It’s not your fault, Cass,” Batgirl said patiently, as though repeating herself. “We’ll find him. We always do.”

“Find who?” He chimed in cheerily, speeding over to lay an elbow on Wonder Girl’s shoulder.

Their heads snapped up in tandem, eyes wide, then all the air was being squeezed from his lungs.

“Bart! _You_ , you lunatic, oh my gods!” Cassie half yelled as she crushed him. “What the hell happened? We’ve been searching for over 48 hours!” Bart struggled vainly until she let go, inhaling sharply and coughing. “Sorry, sorry!” She apologized, patting his back. “You just scared us half to death, is all.”

“S’all crash,” he gasped, catching his breath and waving away her concern. “Just got held up and my comm was moded.”

“ _Held up_? For over _two days?”_ Wonder Girl started indignantly.

“—We’ll worry about the details later,” Batgirl cut in, placing a hand on his shoulder and angling him toward a hallway. “Medbay, now. No arguing.”

“Aye, aye, cap,” Bart saluted, letting her steer him.

“I’ll tell Blue. And, you know, everyone else,” Wonder Girl added, raising a finger to her ear. Bart’s pulse spasmed nervously.

This was it. No turning back now.

Well, again, apparently.

He kept his breathing even, memorizing the Watchtower’s halls as he was nudged along. As someone with a typically _eidetic_ memory, the blank void left by Psimon’s attack was all the more disorienting. There was a familiarity to this route, for sure, but it was like trying to look back through a tiny straw. Was this frustration seriously what other people had to live with all the time?

He sighed inwardly. At least these heroes were clearly his friends. They’d question, but not interrogate, and they’d take him at his word so long as he kept his answers right on the edge of satisfactory. And after that? Well, he’d just have to feel things out as he went along.

“Just so you know,” Batgirl said coolly, “If you try to phase away from me again before I finish evaluating you, mission-induced injuries will be the least of your problems.”

“Aw, come on, BG, have a little faith,” Bart said, tossing a winning smile over his shoulder. “When was the last time I gave you a hard time post-mission?”

“When was the last time that you _didn’t_?” She answered amusedly, directing him through the sliding medbay door. “Seriously though, behave. You can handle ten more minutes away from Blue.”

Right…‘Blue.’ ‘ _He’ll see you as his boyfriend.’ ‘Lover boy over there is driving us up the wall.’_ The words pinged around his head, stomach rocking with nausea. That couldn’t have come more out of left field, _why_ did he have to—

He shut the thought down hard, exhaling long and slow out of his nose. No, this was fine. Just another adjustment. If he’d already been this deep undercover for months, then that was all the proof he needed that he could do this, right? He had to do whatever it took.

He owed it to Nathaniel. To his parents. To Barry. To the future.

To himself.

He rolled his neck, blurring the excess energy out in gestures too fast for anyone to notice.

“You okay?” Batgirl asked, eyeing him as she took out equipment.

Make that _almost_ anyone.

He shot a purposely tired smile back at her, flopping back on an examination table with an ‘oof.’

“Yeah, just didn’t really give myself a chance to cool down. Don’t want my muscles seizing up, you know?”

“It was far, then? Where you ran from,” she asked, expression unreadable as she began assessing him for injuries.

“Your definition of far or mine?” he said lightly, flinching a bit from the cold tools. She shot him a look. “Nah, it wasn’t that far. Metal boxes though? _Not_ crash. Don’t recommend getting shoved into one.”

“Been there,” she scrunched her nose in sympathetic displeasure. “You phased out?”

“Doi, but I had to wait a solid _three hours_ for them to leave me alone long enough to do it without tripping over myself. You have any idea how awkward it is to unfold yourself from being cramped like that, and _then_ have to start running full tilt?”

“Three hours still leaves a lot of time unaccounted for. What was the hold up?” she asked. He sighed.

“Look, I didn’t wanna freak out Wonder Girl but I didn’t know I was gone for two days until she said that,” he said quietly. “I honestly thought it was a few hours. All I remember was a major headache, waking up in the box, and then escaping back here. I feel fine _now_ , but should I be worried? I’ve never stayed knocked out that long before.”

Batgirl’s brow furrowed. “If it had been an actual blow to the head? Yes. But it wasn’t, and all these scans are coming up normal. Psimon deals psychic blows, and they can get nasty, even with your accelerated healing. You’re not the first one to get pretty solidly whammied by him like that. Any of the seniors ever tell you about their first mission to Biyalia?”

“No, what happened?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“It was the Team’s first encounter with Psimon. He wiped _six months_ of memories from the whole group. They were all stuck aimlessly wandering around different bits of the desert for nearly a day before Miss Martian was able to restore everyone’s minds and—to quote Garfield—‘kick his psychic butt,’” she smirked.

“Oof,” Bart grimaced. “Guess I got off easy then, huh? Unless I’m picking which ones get wiped, can’t say having moded memories is on my bucket list.”

“I hear ya. Can you imagine how confusing that would be?” She wrinkled her nose again.

“Yeah,” Bart said honestly, “But can’t say I want to.” He sat up, peeking over Batgirl’s shoulder as she put the scanners down. “Blue’s taking a long time to get back, huh?” he said evenly. Batgirl gave him a small, knowing smile.

“Your definition of long, or mine?” She teased. Bart rubbed his neck, looking down as he smiled.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume he was totally calm and collected the whole time I was missing,” he said lightly. She snorted.

“I nearly shot him with a tranq gun,” she said, leaning back on the counter and crossing her arms comfortably.

“Guess now wouldn’t be a good time to tell him how expensive our last grocery bill was then, huh?” he joked. Her eyes lit up prettily when she laughed.

 

 

+

 

 

Bart could peer over this guy’s head on tiptoe if he wanted.

He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing that registered, that Beetle was shorter than he’d thought he would be, but it was. The second was that the small, bright, smile flooding Beetle’s face with relief looked so out of place on the armor that Bart could only stare.

It took all of his self control not to recoil or run as iridescent wings zoomed Beetle forward to meet him, but as the armor around Beetle’s face retracted, there was something about the automatic leap of his heart that felt nothing like fear.

“You really can’t go a week without giving me a heart attack, can you?” Beetle chided softly.

He had never stopped to think that Beetle’s voice could be smooth. Normal.

“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, right?” He quipped with an automatic actor’s smile.

Or that his eyes wouldn’t really be orange.

“Trust me, you fill that quota just fine without disappearing acts, guepardito,” Beetle said exasperatedly.

Or that his hands could be warm as they framed his face without the slightest hint of violence.

“What can I say? You’re cute when you’re worried.”

And was that another language he just spoke? Whatever Beetle had called him, he had to mentally slap himself for the most fleeting of desires for him to say it again.

“Hey, Jaime, your phone’s going off in your sweatshirt,” Wonder Girl called from down the hall.

Jaime. His name was Jaime.

 

 

+

 

 

Beet— _Jaime_ was a car singer. He kept too many things in his sweatshirt pockets, and swore under his breath in Spanish when he dropped his keys. He brushed his hand to the small of Bart’s back whenever he walked past him, and never seemed to be more than a foot away from a horrendously thick textbook as he floated around his— _their_ apartment. He even made Bart a heaping pile of ‘welcome home’ enchiladas that were so delicious it almost made him groan.

Bart kept watching for some hint of cruelty. Some passive aggressive comment or a snide put down. Maybe a too-hard-to-be-joking punch to the arm or a random comment about someone else’s inferiority. The worst he got was an annoyed scolding for leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor after Jaime nearly tripped over them, and though it was true he was often quick to roll his eyes when Bart opened his mouth, even that never felt mean.

It didn’t make any sense.

He watched with hidden confusion as Jaime moved about this shared space of theirs (home, Jaime had called it home) like any normal person would, lean where he’d expected him to be intimidatingly muscled, gentle where he expected him to be harsh, and couldn’t understand how this seemingly innocent, incredibly handsome, young guy could be the stuff of his nightmares. How the hell had it happened? What could turn a smile that genuine into the twisted mask of a monster?

A flicker of terror and anger flashed through him as he realized that, in a matter of hours, he was already beginning to doubt himself. To doubt his mission. _Again_. Every evil tyrant there had ever been was merely a young man, once. That didn’t give him a free pass. The safety of the universe was more important than the life of one future villain.

But those _eyes_. How was he supposed to kill this dude when he looked at him like that across the room? Looked at him like he actually gave a shit. Like he…

Like he loved him.

He needed to get some air.

 

 

+

 

 

“You’re _sure_ he’s the right guy?”

Barry had said to only use the small panic button he’d gifted Bart if there was a Beetle-related emergency. He’d also said not to go to the same safehouse that Barry had brought him to after the encounter with Psimon, so as not to arouse suspicion. But he couldn’t help himself. Something was off.

“Bart, we’ve been over this.” Barry sighed with strained patience.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just…” Bart shook his head. “This guy? Seriously? He seems like the kind of person who’d put a bug in a cup and set it outside instead of squish it.”

“Yes, I know. And I know you can’t know this, but we already had nearly this same conversation over a year ago. He may seem harmless, but _you_ know the truth. You’ve lived it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look,” Barry said kindly, “I get it, this isn’t an easy job. And if you really don’t think you can handle the assignment—”

“I didn’t say that,” Bart said sharply. “I just want to make sure we have the right person. I’ve never seen under the armor in my time. I don’t know who’s in there. It wouldn’t surprise me if this guy gets himself killed and they put the scarab on someone else.”

“No,” Barry objected fervently. “That’s not what happens. You told me so yourself, before you lost your memory.”

“How did I know?”

“You never said. You just said you were certain.”

“But—”

“I trust you, Bart. And I know you don’t remember, but you _need_ to do the same. Trust in your past self’s judgement. We can’t afford doubt now, with the future hanging in the balance.”

“I...okay,” Bart swallowed. “Okay.”

 

 

+

 

 

The hardest part was mornings.

He would wake to the sound of soft, staticky, singing, the words in a language he didn’t understand. A hand on the other side of the bed would tap the radio back into silence with a grumble and then reach for him, tugging him close.

The first time, stuck between dreams and waking, he hadn’t questioned the presence of this person holding him. The bed was so comfortable, dry and warm. There was no draft to make him shiver or leaking water dripping onto his forehead. Surely it was all in his head.

A gentle press of lips to his forehead sent his eyes halfway open, but he didn’t push away. The sleepy eyes in front of his were warm charcoal fires inviting him to stay awhile, and he _wanted_ to. The hand trailing down his back set off a feeling low in his gut, and he felt vaguely impressed that his brain could make up a boy this beautiful.

It wasn’t until their lips met, slotting together with a clearly practiced ease that his _body_ seemed to remember even if his _brain_ did not, that his content sigh turned to a gasp for all the wrong reasons.

Time slowed as he sped up, giving himself a moment of pure panic. This was real, he was awake, and he was in the middle of kissing a monster.

The part of his brain that was trained for survival screamed at him for not holding himself together. He had to act like nothing was off, Beetle _could not find out_ that anything was wrong. But he’d just…and he’d never...

“¿Cariño? You okay?”

A wave of guilt and disgust flowed through him at the _shiver_ that unwillingly ran down his spine from the tone of Beetle’s voice, low and husky from sleep.

“Well, not to ruin the mood, but you did just wake me up, so kinda need to dash to the bathroom. Like, pronto,” he said through a fake yawn.

Beetle—no, _Jaime_ , he really needed to remember to use his name—rolled his eyes and chuckled, playfully shoving him away. He booked it as fast as he could.

Locked behind the bathroom door, he put his head between his knees, trying not to hyperventilate. He’d just kissed him. Just kissed the man that would one day murder his friends and force a superpower-blocking collar around his neck. And he’d _enjoyed it_.

He felt sick to his stomach.

As far as Bart could remember, he’d never kissed anyone before. Maybe it was stupid, but considering all the things he knew he’d have to sacrifice for this mission to be a success, some part of him had hoped that a few ‘normal’ things might be spared. Like being able to have his first kiss. Now he couldn’t even have that. Beetle had taken that from him too. Not just the first, but probably the first ten, even the first hundred, who knew? He’d been ‘dating’ him for ages before he lost his memory.

He supposed it was likely that, since he was twenty and not thirteen like he felt in his head, there was a chance someone else had been before him. But he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and this _felt_ like the first, and he’d probably _have_ to do it again, and so maybe it _was_ stupid but it felt so unfair.

He avoided facing Jaime’s direction in the mornings after that. Stuck to tactfully avoiding anything more than a kiss to the cheek at all times because he just couldn’t do it, and hoped to hell that Jaime didn’t notice.

But of course he did.

 

 

+

 

 

There was an unfamiliar car parked outside when he got home early one afternoon. He phased through the door, listening cautiously for some hint about this new visitor as he crept down the hall. Jaime wasn’t expecting him to be home for two more hours. Would this finally be some proof of Beetle’s shady dealings?

“You’re awfully quiet, mijo.”

“What? Oh, yeah. Just busy studying I guess.”

“Right,” Bianca Reyes smiled, crossing her arms. “Funny, your father seems to think staring blankly into the void is a productive thinking method, too. Somehow, I have my doubts.”

Or not. It was just Jaime’s mother. Bart could just barely see her around the corner.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Jaime sighed.

“Is this something about Bart?” she inquired, gentle but firm. Bart froze, listening.

“No,” Jaime said quickly. He was a terrible liar.

“I _did_ say this was moving a bit fast—”

“— _Mom_ , we’ve been over this.”

“Fine, fine,” she held up her hands, conciliatory. “What is it then, mijo?”

Jaime sighed. It sounded like his neck cracked. “It’s just...I’m worried about him.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, he just seems...off. Has been all week ever since our last, uh, outing. With our friends.”

“Did something happen?”

“You could say that. He got hurt, sort of, and then we thought he was missing—”

“Missing? Dios mio, Jaime! Why didn’t you mention it? Was he alright?”

“Yeah, no, he’s okay. Everyone went looking for him, but he eventually made his way back on his own,” Jaime paused. “I mean, he _seemed_ fine. At first, anyway. But then...I don’t know, I’m probably just overthinking it.”

“Is he acting differently?”

“Yeah? But it’s mostly small things. Like we actually have leftovers in the fridge right now because he hasn’t scarfed down everything I didn’t finish the past few nights, and he hasn’t zipped over to say ‘bye every time he’s left the house. And usually I forget what personal space feels like when he’s home because I can never get him to leave me alone for five minutes, but now he’s...well he’s practically normal, which for _him_ might as well be distant, and...” Jaime sighed. “Well, some other stuff, but, like I said, I’m probably just overthinking it.”

“Oh, honey,” Bianca moved out of Bart’s sight, likely towards Jaime. “Do you think something might have happened?”

Bart’s pulse sped up nervously.

“That’s the thing. He usually tells me. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Well then whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll open up to you in his own time,” she said reassuringly. “Maybe this is just his way of saying he needs a little space, but he’ll come around.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

 

 

+

 

 

As the days ticked by, Bart grew more and more fidgety.

Despite doing his best to shift his behaviors to alleviate Jaime’s suspicions, he knew that couldn’t last forever. He had to just _get it over with_. But...it never seemed like the right time.

Doing it on a mission would have been easiest, but they were hardly ever paired up together. They were “too distracting” to each other, apparently. Considering that never seemed to be an issue for any of the other team couples, he didn’t dare ask why they were the exception.

Frankly, even if it hadn’t been dangerous to ask, he didn’t want to know. There were too many reasons to ditch his goal already buzzing around his head.

Like Jaime’s sister’s upcoming dance recital.

And her next karate belt test.

...And her half-birthday dinner.

She was _twelve,_ okay? If Jaime missed those things, she’d be crushed! Bart had a job to do, but he wasn’t _majorly_ _heartless_.

Plus, it really was hard to stay on task when Blue kept giving him the most delicious food in the world.

“Babe, holy _shit_ , have you had some of these chicken whizee things before? I might leave you to go marry them in Vegas like, right now,” he groaned as Jaime dumped groceries on the table. “That is the retro eloping place right? Or is that not actually a thing?”

An odd look crossed Jaime’s face for a moment.

“Whu’?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Nothing,” Jaime smiled unconvincingly. “You just reminded me of something, that’s all.” He held still as Jaime pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Uh oh.

Bart waited a few moments after Jaime shut the door to their tiny metal balcony, then phased through the front door of the apartment, dashing outside and up to the balcony below theirs. He crouched, trying to remain as silent and still as he could, listening.

“—I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together before, I’m such an idiot,” he heard Jaime saying over the phone. “Of course I’m sure. He just gushed about a bag of chicken whizees like he’d never eaten one in his life before today,” Jaime insisted.

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, _damnit_. Of course it’d be food of all things that would cause him to slip up. His heart pounded, panicking.

“Well you _are_ the one that can _read minds_ , surely you—hm? Wait you did? What the hell, why didn’t you tell me?” He sighed, lowering his voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m frustrated with myself, not you.”

Bart’s brow furrowed. So Jaime was talking to a mind reader and angry about them doing something he hadn’t known about. Something like...causing Bart’s memory loss? Surely it couldn’t be...he couldn’t be _working_ with Psimon?

“Yeah, okay, good, that’s what I was hoping. I don’t know how I’m going to get him to do it, though. Clearly he didn’t want anyone to notice, so that means he probably isn’t exactly trusting right now. I mean, meirda, I think he _suspects_ me.”

Bart’s heart sank. So he _was_ up to something. And it sounded like he really was on the phone with the telepathic psycho that did this to him!

“You’re right, here would probably be best. If you can, yeah, the sooner the better. We’ll figure something out.”

Great. He was going to have to make a move _now_. He clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. _Hehadtodothis, hehadtodothis, hehadtodothis._

“Great, see you soon. I will, ‘bye.”

Bart’s throat felt dry, an eerie calm falling over him as he felt the familiar surge of adrenaline kicking him into high gear.

Time was up, reality had caught up to him. If he was honest, as much as the past had been a fantasy land for him to run around in these past few weeks, it hadn’t _really_ feel real. _This_ , this fight for survival, battle against Blue Beetle, _that_ was always going to be his reality. He couldn’t escape it if he tried. And he _had_ tried.

He _really_ hadn’t wanted it to be like this, so sudden and messy. But this wasn’t about him. Like he said, he had a job to do.

He sped back the way he came, phasing into the apartment just as Beetle was closing the balcony door behind him. Time slowed as the door clicked into place. For a fraction of a moment, Bart closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were face to face. Beetle jumped, eyes going wide as his armor sprung up, confirming Bart’s suspicions even further. Beetle only ever seemed to let that happen when he was seriously on edge.

“Jesus, Bart, you scared me,” Beetle reprimanded, taking a step back as the armor retracted from his face. Bart took a deep breath.

Jaime’s eyes were the color of the earth after rain—rich, deep, and healthy with no ash to mar it—and he smelled like cotton sheets and spice. There was no growl when he spoke. There was no malice in his face. He couldn’t watch scary movies with the lights off, and he ate more oranges in a week than Bart had seen in his entire _lifetime_. But none of it mattered. One day he would turn and destroy everything that he, and Bart, and everyone they cared about, had ever loved, and no one would remember the sound of his laugh unless it was followed by the sound of their own screams.

“I’m sorry, Blue,” he admitted.

Without hesitation he ran, circling him and sending dishes, clothes, and magazines flying around the apartment from the whirlwind.

Beetle’s arms flew up reflexively, body rearmored in an instant.

“Bart, what are you doing?”

Bart didn’t answer, gritting his teeth as he flung himself directly into him. Beetle dodged by mere millimeters with a yelp.

At least seeing him as Blue Beetle made it a little easier to stomach.

“Whoa, whoa, Bart, stop! Please! Just listen to me, you’re not thinking straight,” Beetle begged, dodging again.

“Listen, I—I understand, okay? You don’t remember me, so you don’t trust me. And it makes sense! I know that you hate the Blue Beetle from your time. He did _awful_ things. I know that. But, Bart, _please_ , I _swear_ —” Bart landed a flurry of punches, but it hardly made him stumble. “Unf—I _promise_ , he and I are not the same person. You personally made sure of that. We’re on the same side here—”

Bart skid, turning to face him. “I know what I did,” he tried again to ram into him, twisting to a stop as Beetle turned mid-air to face his direction, arms held up to block. “I really did think I could save you.”

“You _did_. The Reach is long gone, Bart, you completed your mission,” Beetle pleaded.

“No, I changed it,” Bart said resignedly. “And I was wrong.”

Determinedly, he set up a brutal pace again, trying to find an opening through Beetle’s blocks to phase his hand through the armor above Beetle’s heart. Each time, Beetle blocked him perfectly as though anticipating his moves. He vaguely wondered if that was somehow Psimon’s doing, or if it was just seven years of shared sparring experience coming to fruition. Either way, it was equally frustrating and terrifying.

It was weird, though. Despite Bart making no progress, Beetle had yet to put him on the defensive. It didn’t make sense. There was no reason to hesitate. No reason to pull punches. But as he zoomed circles around Beetle, tossing him this way and that as he slammed against him, he wasn’t met with resistance. Beetle was just _taking_ it.

He didn’t understand.

Why wasn’t Beetle fighting back?

“When you—ow, mierda—come to your senses,” Beetle grunted, “remind me never to doubt your paranoid one-on-one training sessions ever again.”

Bart paused, glaring uncomprehendingly. “Dragging this out isn’t doing either of us any favors. I’ve found you out. You found me out. Stop pretending and _fight me_.”

“Never gonna happen, KF,” Beetle said gently. “And I know you think there’s nothing in that memory gap, but you’re wrong. I _know_ some part of you still remembers _something_. Please, cariño. _Think_ ,” he pleaded. “Your first day back after you went missing, while I was cooking breakfast, you grabbed the mug I always use without even thinking about it. You just _knew_. And it’s not the only time you’ve done something like that,” he argued. “Like all this time, waking up next to me in a place you didn’t know. You should have panicked, but you _haven’t_ , not once, because part of you _knows_ you’re safe here with me.”

Beetle’s comments were setting off a tell-tale feeling in Bart’s gut. The kind he usually relied on, because it always guided him toward what was _right_. But he couldn’t be. It was just more mind games, and _fuck_ he was so _sick_ of that.

“Please,” Beetle repeated. “They’re still in there—your missing memories. I know it. They’re just, I don’t know, locked up in your subconscious or something.”

He shook his head, ignoring the feeling.

“Memory or no memory, my objective is the same as it has been for over a year,” Bart rattled off before he could stop himself. “You’re destined to betray us no matter what I do to try to stop it. This is the only way.” _Why_ was he explaining this to him? _Justifying_ it even. He was wasting time.

Beetle froze. “What are you talking about?”

Bart didn’t answer, lunging forward to seize the small opening. Just before his hand phased to skin level over his heart, he was plasma cannoned back.

“Dammit, Khaji, I said _we’re not shooting_ ,” Beetle panicked, rolling forward on the balls of his feet, seemingly torn between taking a step back and running to Bart’s side.

Bart’s stomach roiled, hands shaking from the horribly unpleasant, yet familiar feel of the plasma cannon’s attack. He clenched his fist, regulating his breathing. _Hehadtodothis hehadtodothis hehadtodothis._

“I’m so sorry, he did it before I could—”

“Shut up,” Bart snapped, getting back to his feet. “If it makes it easier,” he said with dangerous calm, “this ‘relationship’ you’re trying to save? It’s not real. You and me? Never an actual thing. I just needed to get close to you. To make getting you alone and vulnerable a simpler task for me,” Bart swallowed. “So save the sentimental whatevers you’re tossing out and _hit. Me._ ”

Beetle recoiled as though Bart had resumed punching him in the gut, shock flashing noticeably across his now-amber eyes.

He took a step back, shaking his head.

“That’s total bullshit and you know it,” he said shakily. “Just the other day, when you...when you finally let me kiss you again?” Beetle swallowed, voice cracking slightly. “That wasn’t nothing for you, I could tell.” He paused. “I may not always pick up on when you’re lying, but you’ve never been able to fool me when we—when we’re, _together_ ,” he said, only glancing away for the briefest of moments.

Bart’s eyes went wide, no doubt turning stupidly crimson.

As much as he wanted to be single-minded in this attack, the implications of _that_ threw him for a serious loop. Just how _together_ was Beetle talking?

“So, sure, maybe you don’t remember them properly,” Beetle continued, seemingly emboldened by Bart’s reeling, “but your feelings for me weren’t part of that character you made up. I _know_ it. They’re...it’s what saved me in the first place, all those years ago.” Regaining his composure, he looked earnestly into Bart’s eyes, hands hovering in front of him non-threateningly. “Even when I got put on mode, even when the _entire_ rest of the team was convinced I’d turned traitor and the Reach...had me attack you,” pain and shame laced his tone, almost too subtle to notice, “you didn’t give up on me. You were determined to get me back to being myself again no matter what. And you _did_. So I’m not giving up on you either.”

Bart swallowed, that gut feeling tugging harder at him as he thought of the kiss Jaime was talking about. He’d bitten the bullet, accepting that if he wanted to keep his cover, he had to suck it up and kiss him again, and, well.

He told himself it was just a coping mechanism, the way his brain shut down when their lips met. That he was just pretending that Jaime was a pretty stranger, to make it not so bad. To make it _tolerable._

Ha, right. He could lie to Jaime but he couldn’t lie to himself. Not _really._ He hadn’t just been tolerating. He’d been _indulging_. The second Jaime’s lips had found his—gathered up in Jaime’s arms and pressed flush against the soft fabric of his t-shirt—Bart had melted, pressing even closer _back_. Nothing had ever made him feel more guilty in his life.

He shrugged. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. Like you said, I don’t really remember. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. I have to do this.”

He _did_. And his feelings _didn’t_ matter. They _didn’t._ Jai—fuck, _Beetle_ was the _enemy_. He’d bring on the worst hell Bart had ever experienced, and Bart was the only one who could stop it.

“ _Why?_ Says who?” Jaime asked, bracing for another hit as Bart started moving again.

“Me, before I lost my memory. And Flash.”

With pitch perfect precision Jaime caught his hands, flipping Bart around to press his back against his chest and holding him in a death grip.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Flash was there when I woke up, he explained everything,” Bart said, struggling. Fuck, _why_ couldn’t he turn his stupid traitor mouth off mode?

“But you said you were captured—”

“I lied.”

“But Flash has been off world in Rann helping with zeta research for the last month and a half,” Jaime grunted, just barely keeping Bart in place as he struggled. Bart went slack in surprise.

“...What?”

“He’s been gone, Bart. The League has been in contact with him every few days, and he hasn’t come home. It couldn’t have been Flash that was talking to you.”

A deep, panicked uncertainty sent ice through Bart’s veins.

Beetle had to be lying. He _had_ to be.

But…

The evasive excuses. The overly limited communication. That nagging feeling that something had been off since day one.

“I’m telling the truth, Bart, you _know_ I am,” Jaime insisted. “The Flash, of all people, would _never_ tell you to use lethal force on someone. Whoever it was, whatever they told you, they’re _using_ you. This has to have something to do with Psimon—”

“You mean the guy you were just all chummy with on the phone five minutes ago?” Bart snapped, torn and confused.

“What? I wasn’t talking to _Psimon_ , I was talking to—”

 _‘I’m here!’_ A voice reverberated through their minds. Oh no. Miss Martian.

 _‘Oh thank fucking god_ ,’ Jaime’s voice answered, loud and clear in Bart’s head. ‘ _Get up here,_ now.’

Bart started to struggle again. That honestly didn't bode much better than if it  _had_ been Psimon, considering that if Miss Martian got involved he’d be _toast_. Moded to _infinity_. Off the team in a heartbeat, if not choking from a power blocking collar, and world totally and definitely _doomed_.

He _had_ to get free in time.

But he couldn’t.

M’gann density shifted through their door without bothering to knock, decked out in her superhero attire and eyes going wide the moment she saw Bart thrashing around in Jaime’s grip.

“Oh boy, okay, worse than I was thinking.” She raised her hands non threateningly, landing softly a few feet away from them. “Bart, listen, it’s okay. We’re going to sort this out. I promise neither of us are here to hurt you.”

“Miss M,” Bart grunted. “Just stay out of this. Please. I really _really_ don’t want to fight you.”

“I can’t do that,” she said, stepping tentatively closer. “But I’m not here to fight either. Please, Bart. Let me help you.” Her eyes glowed green. Bart shouted fruitlessly in frustration, eyes closing as her mind engulfed his.

 

 

+

 

 

A gray and ravished landscape stretched out in all directions, barren and cold. Ash fell from the sky in light billows, dusting the tops of their heads. Mount Justice was reduced to a pile of rubble, blackened and dead.

“Jesus, Bart,” Jaime said quietly, pained. Bart’s heart raced. Bits of sharp, crystalline color lay scattered on the ground like broken mirror fragments, sad and beautiful. He felt...fuzzy, trying to look at them. It was a weird sense of vertigo and sluggishness all at once and he could hardly tell up from down.

He looked away, turning his eyes to the diseased sky, something curdling in his gut. How had he gotten here? He wasn’t supposed to see this place ever again. Why was he back in this hell, _again_?

“What’s that?” Jaime asked nervously.

He didn’t see it at first. The yellow streak, suddenly appearing from nowhere. M’gann inhaled sharply.

“Kid Flash?” Jaime asked, perplexed. Bart watched numbly as Wally, glowering at them and practically glowing in his original Kid Flash costume, let out an angry shout and started running. A vortex began forming around them, a whirlwind of ash, dirt, and dust. “M’gann, what do we do?”

“It’s not really him,” M’gann said quietly, fists clenching as her short hair whipped around her face. “Bart’s mind is still fragile after his run-in with Psimon, and it sees us as a threat. Wally is just a projection of Bart’s mind, trying to protect itself,” she sighed. “I was afraid of this, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Too late,” Jaime mumbled vaguely, a red-clad speedster jumping into the fray and staring them down. Jaime stiffened. “Barry, listen we’re not here to hurt him,” Jaime said carefully, hugging Bart a bit closer to his chest.

“Don’t bother,” M’gann said, hovering protectively in front of them. “It can’t think for itself.”

“S’not Barry.” Bart whispered hollowly. “Barry’s dead.”

Dead, murdered, gone. Dead because he couldn’t go back and save him. Dead because Bart was a failure.

“Wait, then...this is _your_ Flash? Like future Flash?” Jaime asked, surprised.

“Jaime focus, his mind is spiraling. You have to calm him down. Get him back in touch with reality,” M’gann said impatiently, trying to slow Wally down as the other scarlet speedster advanced.

The other Flash. The Flash that would never exist now, all because of him.

His fault. All of this was his fault.

The sky grew darker.

“Blue, we’re losing him!” M’gann shouted.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jaime panicked. “I’m the biggest threat he sees in here, how do I calm him down?”

“I don’t know, just get through to him. You know him better than anyone, think of something!”

“My fault,” Bart heard himself mumble hoarsely, tears forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no. No way,” Jaime turned him in his arms so Bart was looking limply into his eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Bart. This future doesn’t even exist anymore,” he said firmly, thumbing along Bart’s hairline and rubbing small circles into his temple. “You saved it. You saved everyone.”

“I didn’t. I killed him.”

“Who?” Jaime asked. Bart glanced at the scarlet speedster now battling heatedly with M’gann. Something clicked in Jaime’s eyes.

“Wally?” Jaime asked, surprised. Bart crumpled in on himself slightly. Jaime brought a hand to his cheek. “How could you possibly think that?”

“I picked Barry,” Bart said miserably, chest aching. Some of the jagged shards glinted. Growing. Brightening. Yes, he remembered. Barry _wasn’t_ dead. Not anymore. But. There was lightning...it was blue. “He was supposed to die and Wally was supposed to live. I saved Barry, so Wally died.” A vortex. It was like this vortex. His cheeks felt wet. “I—I didn’t slow down enough. Wally took all the hits. It’s my fault.”

“That’s not how it works, Bart. Wally made a choice, you didn’t drag him out there,” Jaime said quietly, brushing away his tears. “None of that is on you, and you know Wally wouldn’t want you to think it was.”

“I just...I don’t know,” Bart swallowed, voice thick. Desperate. “I couldn’t save you, either. And I couldn’t stop you. I don’t know what else to _do_.” The fear was everywhere. Gaping, enveloping, swallowing him whole. It was all there was.

“You don’t have to do anything anymore, guepardito,” Jaime said gently, resting their foreheads together as he held him tighter. Bart closed his eyes, holding back a sob. He felt so young. So tired. So ill-fucking-equipped for any of it. “Just let me help you. Please. Let me help you remember.”

He gulped, felt himself shaking. Nothing made sense. Future, past, present—everything was so jumbled.

But.

The arms holding him were warm and anchoring, the feel of the lips pressing hard against his forehead was soothingly familiar, and when he buried his nose into Jaime’s collar, he smelled like clean cotton and spice and _home._

“Okay,” he breathed, hoarse and ragged as the storm inside him quieted. “Okay.”

“They’re stopping,” M’gann said, relieved.

The whirlwind faded to a breeze. The ash slowed, then stopped falling all together. Both Wallys faded out of view.

All was still.

“Good work,” M’gann told Jaime, relieved. She placed a tentative hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Bart? If you’re ready, I can connect yours and Jaime’s minds for a brief period of time,” she explained gently. “It will allow Jaime to share his memories with you, which will help fill the gaps and hopefully trigger your own memories back into place. Sound okay?”

He nodded into Jaime’s neck.

“Ready, Blue?”

“Do it,” Jaime nodded, shifting his hand to the back of Bart’s neck, soothingly scratching at Bart’s hair. The knot in Bart’s chest loosened slightly. M’gann’s eyes glowed green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guepardito = Little cheetah
> 
> Please correct me if I make mistakes with any of the scattered Spanish in this fic! I tried to scour the internet to make sure the little bits of Mexican Spanish phrases, slang, etc that I tossed in made sense & were things people actually say, but that's def not fool proof & I'll gladly fix things if they don't make sense!


	2. The Beginning

Jaime rubbed his temples, heading to his locker at Mount Justice. He was starting to wonder if he’d ever get used to this stupid talking bug on his back, and he was hungry as hell.

He spun open the lock, shifting aside his backpack to look for the stash of snacks he’d shoved unceremoniously into the corner the day before. It was empty.

“Ugh, estupendo. Where’d I put those things,” he muttered to himself, digging around in all the pockets of his backpack just in case. Nothing.

“Hey, Blue,” Garfield greeted weakly, walking toward him.

“Oh, hey. You’re back already?” he asked, surprised.

“I’d rather stay busy,” Gar shrugged with a forced smile. “Plus, M’gann wanted some time alone. To, you know. Process, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jaime said gently. “...They were really close right? Her and Artemis?” Gar nodded.

“Yeah, best friends,” Gar answered, leaning a shoulder against the row of lockers. There was a comfortable pause.

“Hey um, if you wanna, you know, head downstairs at all,” Jaime offered, gesturing in the general direction of the grotto, “I’ll come with you.” Gar’s small smile turned genuine.

“Yeah, actually, that’d be nice. Thanks, Blue.”

Just as they began to head toward the elevator, an energetic voice sprang from nowhere.

“Heyhey, what’s happening BB squared!” They turned, surprised. It was that new kid, the speedster. He was a scrawny little thing, all limbs and wild auburn hair and a perpetual toothy smile. Robin was trailing along behind him, both boys dressed in civvies, a look of slight incredulousness on Robin’s face.

“Uh, hi. Impulse, right?” Gar acknowledged.

“Yup. Bart, Impulse, whatever, it’s all crash,” Bart shrugged. “So, whatcha guys up to?”

Gar paused, shooting a look at Jaime and Robin like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with this kid. Jaime cleared his throat.

“We were gonna head downstairs for a bit.”

“There’s _more_ stuff downstairs? Man, this place just keeps getting more and more crash! Mind if I come with?” Impulse asked, far too cheerily. Robin stepped to Gar’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no rush, you know,” he said quietly, ignoring the oblivious speedster. “You just got back.”

“I know,” Gar said. “I want to,” he turned to Impulse. “And uh, sure, you guys can come if you want.”

“Great,” Impulse said brightly. “I’ll meet you down there though. Gotta run to the bathroom first.” He zoomed away before any of them could even finish processing his sentence.

Gar raised an eyebrow, whispering from the side of his mouth. “Is it just me, or is Impulse kind of…”

“Weird?” Jaime supplied. Robin snorted.

“Says the guy that grows armor from a bug on his back and a shapeshifter,” he nudged.

“Fair enough,” Gar grinned. “Guess it’s kinda nice though, having another speedster around. I’ve missed having Wally here. He always brings the energy up when he’s around, too. Though, uh, maybe not quite _that_ much.” Rob and Jaime chuckled.

When they reached the grotto, the three boys stood quietly side by side. It was peaceful down there, if not a little dark for Jaime’s taste. He preferred open spaces to this watery little nook in the basement.

Surprisingly, he barely heard Impulse rush down to join them. He appeared almost as silently as Robin, stepping over softly to stand between Jaime and Rob and gaze up at the new hologram of Artemis, standing tall and proud over them like the other fallen heroes enshrined there.

He probably should have known that the silence wouldn’t last.

The sudden sound of a snack bag being ripped open nearly made him jump, breaking the stillness. He side-eyed Robin and Gar, who were also sneaking a glance at Impulse as he gazed, unaware, up at the hologram. They shared a silent frown.

Then he started munching. Loudly. All three of them flinched at the noise. The first crunch was enough to make both him and Robin, glare, but after the second, Jaime’d had it. Just as he was about to open his mouth, though, he noticed what Impulse was actually eating. He scowled indignantly.

Impulse swallowed, noticing their disapproval.

“Uh, sorry,” he said sheepishly, “Mourning makes me hungry.”

That did it.

Jaime grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him a few feet to the side by the hologram of Ted Kord.

“You stole those freeze-dried chicken whizees from my locker, didn’t you?” he whispered, pointing accusingly then crossing his arms.

“Heyheyhey, where I come from it’s not stealing, it’s scavenger rights,” Impulse said innocently. Jaime stared hard at him, unamused. “The point is we don’t have chicken whizees, freeze-dried or otherwise, in my era,” he explained, raising a finger matter-of-factly like it was the most sound logic in the world. “So blame Kid Flash. He got me hooked.”

Jaime blinked, perplexed by this strange boy with his weird future lingo and very clear culture shock, then sighed, bringing a hand to his face.

“Forget I asked,” he said resignedly.

 

 

+

 

 

“You know you could fly out of here,” Bart tested, glancing sideways at Blue as they ran.

Their mission had gone awry, Arsenal’s penchant for trouble landing the hulking Black Beetle on their butts as they hightailed it into LexCorp’s endless cornfields.

“And you could run about a thousand miles before Black Beetle could blink,” Jaime rebutted, looking steadily back at him. “If I took Arsenal, could you carry Robin?”

“Sorry. Fast, not strong,” he apologized.

“Well Alpha never leaves a man behind,” Jaime said stubbornly.

A flicker of warmth crossed Bart’s chest. Pride, maybe? Or likely just relief.

So far, Bart had followed his instincts when it came to Blue. Jaime, the kid behind the armor, had caught him off guard when they first met. He was...kind. Empathetic. Every bit the hero that Blue Beetle was _supposed_ to be and everything the Blue Beetle of Bart’s era _wasn’t_. But Bart knew. Somehow or another, he would get put on mode. The only question that remained was whether Blue would turn traitor of his own free will, or...some other way.

The truth was, for better or worse, Bart wanted to believe in Jaime. _Fiercely_ wanted to, in a way that kind of scared him. But that didn’t stop him from prodding him every so often.

Just in case.

 

 

+

 

 

Jaime had been having trouble sleeping.

He kept having nightmares of a fight between himself and Black Beetle. Only, he wasn’t seeing the fight from his own body’s perspective. He was seeing it from Black’s. He’d watch as Black Beetle beat him back, beat him down, crushed him wholly and completely. Only then, once his body lay broken on the floor, did he look down at Black’s hands and realize they weren’t black. They were blue.

That was usually when he woke up screaming.

It didn’t help that he and scarab had been arguing more than ever, Bart’s prophesy hanging over his head like a guillotine waiting to drop. He _needed_ to get this parasite off him now, but the surgery hadn’t worked. Which is why he couldn’t stop thinking about what Green Beetle had said. That there was ‘another way.’ He needed to find out what that meant.

So, after the team left Star Labs, Green having informed them of the Reach drink’s more sinister components, he hung back. Waited until Bart, ever present by his side lately, had sped away with a grin and a promise, leaving him and Green alone.

“You fear it will take full command,” Green said of Jaime’s scarab, the two of them walking side by side down the street, “transforming you into a weapon for the Reach.”

“Got a prophecy hanging over my head saying just that, and worse,” he said loudly, frustrated. “I’d do anything, _try_ anything, to make sure it doesn’t come true,” he said desperately, coming to a stop and facing him.

“I believe I may be of assistance,” Green said sympathetically, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Training and meditation can help you control the scarab within.”

“Is that how you did it?” Jaime asked.

“...In part,” Green answered hesitantly.

“Well?” Jaime pressed hopefully.

“I used my natural shape shifting abilities to reach inside my scarab and ensure it could never take control.”

“Oh,” Jaime frowned, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Too bad you can’t reach inside my scarab.” Green glanced away evasively. Jaime’s heart leapt, hope bubbling up in his chest once again. “Wait a minute, you can? You can reach inside my scarab?” he asked excitedly. “Then you gotta do it, ese! Please,” he begged. Green frowned worriedly.

“I am sorry, but I must not,” Green insisted. “I would not have the same control inside your bioform. The procedure would put your life in grave danger.” Jaime deflated, then scowled.

“What part of 'try _anything_ ,' did you not understand,” he said stubbornly. Green paused, staring back at Jaime as though waiting for him to change his mind. He didn’t. Green nodded.

“Very well. Let us begin then.”

“What, here?” Jaime asked, taken aback. Green tilted his head.

“It is as good a place as any,” he said evenly.

A small twinge of guilt pinched his stomach as he thought of the team. He hadn’t told Nightwing about any of this. Or Bart. He couldn’t say exactly why. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bart, he did, it was just…

Jaime could sometimes feel Bart watching him, even out of uniform when they were casually hanging out. Despite his warm smiles and affectionate taps to his shoulder, something felt just a little...off. Like Bart was lying in wait for the switch to flip. For him to suddenly turn into a monster.

His hand twitched, as though to reach for his phone, but he let it drop. Squared his shoulders.

“Okay then. Do it.”

Green circled him, fingers transforming into tendrils that connected directly to his scarab. He flinched slightly as the scarab sprung to life in his mind, protesting fervently. He set his jaw and ignored it.

 _“Enough, Jaime Reyes,”_ it berated him. _“You should not allow this intrusion to—”_ it stuttered. _“This...something is wr—zz-Jaim—Rey—”_ Jaime’s heart jumped into his throat, but he clenched his fists and forced himself to remain still, sure that the panic settling deep in his gut was the scarab’s, not his. _Good riddance,_  he thought.

Then ice cut down his spine like a knife.

He cried out, back arching as he seized up, then slumped forward with eyes closed, arms hanging lifeless in front of him like a robot with its power cut.

 _“Manual override enacted,”_ the scarab said monotonously.

 

 

+

 

 

Bart wasn’t sure what hurt more, Blue’s hit to his head or his own failure to see it coming.

He’d thought he’d spotted it, once. The feral edge to Jaime’s smile that hadn’t been there before. But it was so brief, too brief for anyone other than Bart to possibly notice, and so out of nowhere that he just wrote it off.

Rookie mistake.

Frick, it was just so ridiculous. A few months in the wonderland of the past with its warm beds and team spirit and already he was getting complacent.

...Or maybe it was just Jaime.

In all his preparations, how could he have possibly accounted for him? For his exasperated smiles that sent his stomach backflipping. For his unflinchingly stubborn loyalty.

That was what killed him most. He knew, now. Knew in his _bones_ that Jaime was _good_ , regardless of what Bart had lived through. What he’d seen. He knew that whatever that thing was that knocked Bart out with the crystal key on the War World, that terrorized his loved ones in a future he’d rather forget, it was _not_ Jaime. Which meant, whatever Green Beetle had done, the _real_ Jaime was trapped. Controlled.

But not for long.

“Look, I know this missing key is important,” he said, speeding over to scoot in front of Nightwing as the rest of the team filed into the warehouse, newly home from their captivity on the War World, “but we need to focus on—”

“—Blue Beetle, the so-called ‘Reach hero,’ has dominated this news cycle, with US Secretary General Zhang announcing his plan to present Beetle with the international medal of valor for saving the Earth from the War World,” Cat Grant’s chipper voice reported as Nightwing pulled up the screen. Bart stared worriedly at the overconfident pose Blue Beetle was striking, berating himself again for how he hadn’t seen it. There should have been a hunch to Jaime’s shoulders, a sheepishness as he waved. But the last thing the Reach wanted was a humble hero. Or _any_ hero, for that matter.

“That’s a load of good press for a traitor,” Tim commented. Bart’s brow furrowed.

“Hey,” he snapped, “Don’t blame Blue. He’s just as much a captive of the Reach as we were. We have to set him free.” He paused, surprised at the harshness of his voice. At how protective he felt. He glanced back at the screen, heart twisting in a way he wasn’t sure what to do with before locking eyes again with the current and former Robins. “You know,” he added hurriedly, “before he conquers the Earth and enslaves all mankind.”

Dick nodded, his sympathetic look far too knowing for Bart’s liking. He sped away before his body betrayed him into giving anything more away about just how moded Bart really was, heat reddening his ears as he ran.

Jaime Reyes. Who would have thought. Just when was it that his mantra had changed from ‘stop Blue’ to ‘save him’?

 

 

+

 

 

It had been two months and four days, exactly. He’d counted. After all, Jaime hadn’t had much else to do while literally stuck inside his own mind.

He’d tried to fight it those first few days. Tried desperately and pleadingly, screaming out to Bart when he first showed up telling Green to back off, kicking himself over and over for not calling him, for having been so stupid, but to no avail. Bart couldn’t hear him, and neither could anyone else.

There was _one_ moment he thought Bart put two and two together. Nearly.

He had come over to Jaime’s house like he did every Tuesday—flopping down onto Jaime’s bed and spreading his sketchbook materials everywhere like he owned the place—and something went soft in Jaime’s chest as he watched him. It wasn’t until the ambassador made a small sound of understanding that he realized why Scarab had stiffened nervously as he walked toward Jaime’s desk.

 _“No, no, Scarab,”_ the ambassador redirected smoothly. _“Go sit beside the boy.”_ Jaime balked.

 _“What are you doing?”_ he asked, too quickly, as the scarab mechanically did as he was told, settling down next to Bart.

Bart glanced up curiously, an odd look on his face that quickly morphed into an amused smile.

“ _Slacking_ , Blue?” He teased. “Wow, I feel like I should take a picture or something.”

Jaime’s heart sped up as he heard the ambassador getting ready to say another order.

 _“Don’t touch him,”_ he snapped forcefully, surprisingly himself with the intensity of his own anger, flaring out of nowhere.

The ambassador paused, sounding all the more smug when he did finally speak.

 _“Take his writing instrument,”_ he ordered silkily. Jamie’s blood boiled as the scarab reached for the pencil, their fingers brushing as he plucked it from Bart’s hand.

“This is where I _normally_ do all my homework when you aren’t hogging it, hermano,” Scarab said. It chilled Jaime a little, how much better Scarab faked it with Bart than anyone else, rolling his eyes just like he knew Jaime would.

Bart’s grin turned smug as he stretched, making a show of taking up even more room than before.

“Yeah well, I didn’t have a bed this nice in the future,” he shrugged with a glint in his eyes. “So blame yourself, you got me hooked.”

In any other situation, that would have made Jaime laugh. As it was, frustration and terror filled him instead at the feel of the ambassador’s knowing smile, just a shade too pointed and predatory at the edges, leaking through the scarab’s connection to play across Jaime’s own mouth.

It was only a moment, a heartbeat, before Scarab recovered from the ambassador’s mistake, smacking Bart lightly and shaking his head, but Bart’s grin faltered slightly, eyes betraying his suspicion and body just a _little_ too still. For a second, hope rose in Jaime’s chest. He’d seen it. He had to have.

But, no. An awkward chuckle fell past Bart’s lips as he snatched his pencil back at lightning speed. Then he turned back to his drawing, brushing away his concerns alongside his eraser shavings, and Jaime’s heart plummeted.

That was over a month ago. About a week before the War World. It made him sick to his stomach, what the Reach made his body do. Attacking his friends. Trapping them there for who knew how long. At the same time though, it was a small relief. One way or another now, his friends knew something was wrong. He just had to hope, desperately and possibly vainly, that they would know it wasn’t him—that _Bart_ would know—and then come save him.

But, as Scarab flew them high over the rooftops of El Paso after yet another day, his chances weren’t looking good.

“ _We will soon arrive at your home, Jaime Reyes_ ,” Scarab said. Jaime groaned.

_“Could we not? Nothing’s worse than watching you and the Ambassador pretend to be me to my family.”_

“ _Any alternative tactic would only endanger them_ ,” Scarab said.

 _“Gratitude, Scarab,”_ the Ambassador said. _“You took the words right out of my mouth.”_

Just as Jaime began to resign himself to that fact, his stomach lurched, suddenly jerking to a stop, midair. Scarab turned to stare at the metal clamped around his ankle, holding him in place, then looked down to the rooftops below them, spotting the culprits. Jaime’s heart skipped a beat.

It was Batgirl, tugging hard as she anchored the wire tight around a chimney. He felt his mouth move as the ambassador took over.

“Batgirl, what are you doing?” he asked. “You know this won’t hold us.”

 _“Batgirl, please! They’re going to make me hurt you!”_ Jaime cried out to no avail. He really _really_ didn’t want to have to fight his teammates again.

“ _The Batgirl cannot hear your true voice Jaime Reyes,_ ” Scarab reminded him.

“It’ll hold for a couple seconds,” she replied. “And a couple seconds—”

“—is more than I need,” Bart’s voice rang out in the dark.

Scarab tried to turn, but it was no use. Bart had run full-tilt up the wire even as it snapped, latching himself onto Jaime’s back and vibrating his hand directly onto the boosters that kept them up in the air. Within moments, they were plummeting.

He felt Bart leap away to catch himself from the fall, but by the time Jaime finished registering it, the ground came up hard to meet him. It figured that even though he couldn’t control his body, he could still feel how much it hurt to faceplant into the pavement.

“Sweet dreams, Blue,” he heard Batgirl say, dropping something on the ground.

Smoke enveloped them uselessly, no match for Scarab’s filters. He shot two blue staples out in quick succession, immediately pinning Batgirl to a tree. Jaime flinched inwardly.

It was a bizarre feeling, mentally balling his fists in an anxious gesture but not having it translate to his actual hands.

Without missing a beat, a blur ran into him full force, knocking him down. Scarab grunted, getting back up, but, oddly, let Bart hit him again. And again. Was that...reluctance Jaime was feeling from him?

 _“Scarab what are you waiting for?”_ The Ambassador reprimanded, equally perplexed.

 _“I am establishing the Impulse’s pattern of movement, anticipating where he will be,”_ the scarab answered. A partial truth, Jaime knew, but he _also_ knew that scarab didn’t usually need this much time to do so. He was holding back. Hope and fear rose in Jaime’s chest in equal measure, but then, _“Target acquired.”_

Another staple flew from Scarab’s hand, knocking Bart hard into a wall. Jaime could hear Bart’s breath fly out of him as he slammed into the bricks, hanging limply from where he was pinned. Jaime’s stomach twisted.

 _“Okay they’re down, you’ve won,”_ he said hurriedly. _“Let’s go.”_ He hated this. Really. Fucking. Hated it.

 _“I think not,”_ the ambassador said ominously. _“As this street is currently deserted, we must seize the opportunity. Scarab,”_ he commanded, _“kill them both.”_

Ice cold panic shot down his spine. No. No way, they couldn’t do this!

He felt a twinge of it again, the reluctance. Scarab didn’t want to. All the same, his hands changed to blades immediately, glinting in the street lights.

 _“No!”_ Jaime fought, trying with all his might to take control of his body back, to force Scarab to halt. Slowly, his arms lowered, blades scraping horribly against the pavement, but he couldn’t get Scarab to _stop_.

 _“Scarab,”_ Jaime begged, straining. _“You don’t have to do this!”_

 _“Oh, but he does,”_ the ambassador answered coyly. _“And so do you. In fact, it will be a good lesson for you to helplessly observe your own body murder your former friends. The first kills are always the hardest, my boy,”_ he noted.

Anger surged through Jaime’s veins and he fought harder, frustrated and desperate as his body drew closer and closer to Bart’s limp and vulnerable form. No, no, no, _no._

 _“Scarab, please! We’ve fought side-by-side with these guys,_ do something! _”_ he screamed.

The idea of his blade slicing clean through Bart’s throat, of the crimson soaking the Impulse uniform until every inch of white had turned as red as his goggles, was too horrifying to try to comprehend. His chest ached, nerves screeching. Bart who had only ever tried to help him. To save him. Bart who could polish off four bags of chicken wizzees in five minutes flat and still ask for more. Who filled up notebooks and napkins and sketch pads with art, who could make a giant self portrait of himself out of rocks in a matter of seconds. Bart who was all toothy smiles and soft hair and reassuring arms around Jaime’s shoulders. He couldn’t die. Scarab—no, _Jaime_ , couldn’t be the one to—

 _“I must do as designed parameters dictate,”_ Scarab cut him off sharply. He raised the tip of his blade to Bart’s chin, lifting it gently, just for a moment, before letting it drop again. Before pulling back.

Metal whooshed down and Jaime couldn’t _breathe_ , but—

A force bubble appeared out of nowhere, trapping them and blocking the swing from Bart completely.

Jaime’s entire being filled with overwhelming relief.

In the confusion, Scarab wasted no time. Immediately, his hand turned to a mace, whacking hard against the side of the bubble with all the might he could manage.

 _“Scarab, your attack is ineffective,”_ the ambassador berated, quickly recovering from the surprise. _“Analyze this containment field.”_

 _“Analysis already complete,”_ Scarab said evenly, still punching away. _“Field displays energy signature consistent with the Alien Cooperative.”_

 _“Cooperative technology draws power from kinetic energy,”_ the Reach’s Head scientist pointed out. _“The scarab’s physical attack is_ strengthening _the force bubble. It should know this,”_ she said indignantly.

 _“Scarab,”_ the ambassador said impatiently, _“Do you have the means to_ effectively _circumvent this tech?”_

_“I do. A sonic attack—”_

_“Don’t explain, do it!”_ The ambassador demanded.

The scarab complied, but as the sonic attack began powering up, another voice rang out in the night. It was...mystical, landing on Jaime’s ears as though it had physical weight, the words causing another layer to form around the force bubble. Zatanna’s magic.

The sonic waves bounced harmlessly around the reinforced bubble, not weakening it in the slightest. Triumph rose in Jaime’s chest, relief further flooding both him and Scarab.

 _“Ha! Don’t you get it extraterrestre?”_ Jaime asked the ambassador smugly. _“Impulse and Batgirl were decoys—a distraction from Rocket and Zatanna’s_ real _attack!”_ How could he have doubted his team for a second? He felt the ambassador’s anger build in a way that was oh-so satisfying. Jaime grinned. _“Guess some first kills_ are _harder than others.”_

 

 

+

 

 

Bart had done it. Like, _actually_ done it.

He and Zatanna and the others finally crashed Blue and Green’s mode. For good this time.

It’s not that he wasn’t relieved—he _was_! Really! Maybe more so than he’d ever had a chance to be in his life. The future was safe. He’d pulled off a seemingly impossible undercover mission that he’d worried, multiple times, that he was destined to fail.

And yet, instead of being proud or ecstatic, he was pouting. Over one stupid ignored high five and a much more lukewarm acknowledgement from Jaime than he’d pictured in his head.

Honestly, what had he expected? For Jaime to suddenly run to him, romance movie style, sweeping him up in some giant, spinning hug of gratitude and waxing poetic about how thankful he was that Bart had helped save him? What the actual hell was wrong with him?

He hadn’t taken this mission for the _glory_.

...One small, meaningful hug like Jaime had given Zatanna really would’ve been nice, though.

He sighed exasperatedly at himself, vaguely listening to Tim, Barbara, and Zatanna explain to Jaime how their plan had come together as the Super Cycle took them all home.

“Guess I wasn’t exactly what the Light or Reach had in mind,” Jaime noted, as they finished their story. “But why keep all this from me?”

“Because it took _months_ for me to learn the ritual,” Zatanna answered. “Not to mention, configure the ancient Biyalian incantations to work in concert with my magic.”

“And you couldn’t risk letting the Reach know the temple existed until you were ready,” Jaime said, piecing it together. He flew up beside him. “You managed to keep your mouth shut?” Jaime teased lightly. “ _You?_ ”

“Hey, making sure you stayed a hero was the _main_ reason I came to the past,” Bart said, a bit more seriously than he intended. “So I was motivated to keep my mouth off mode,” he added, pointing a joking finger at him. “Don’t you get used to it now.”

It was good, he supposed, that Jaime assumed his motormouth tendencies made him a terrible secret keeper. It meant he’d been doing his job right. Looking at Jaime’s small smile though, a part of him did wish hiding things from them wasn’t as easy, or as necessary, as breathing to him.

He tried not to think too hard about whether or not that would still be the case going forward if the mission truly had come to an end. If he even wanted to bother letting himself be who he was before he’d created Impulse, or what that would mean for all the friendships he’d gained here if he did dare to drop the act.

That was a problem for another day. Something to worry about after a well-deserved nap back at the Garrick's.

Just as they arrived back and started walking toward the Zeta tubes though, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

He turned, Jaime’s warm eyes staring back at him, unmasked. The tell-tale worried crease in his brow was back, the one Bart kept having to resist smoothing away.

“Can we talk for a second?” Jaime asked quietly.

Bart followed him off to the side.

“Look, I just...I wanted to say I’m really sorry,” Jaime said, not meeting his eye. Bart’s heart sped up. For what? Had he really let his moping be that obvious?

“Don’t sweat it Blue, it’s no biggie,” he shrugged, flashing a smile. Jaime’s gaze shot up in surprise.

“Bart, I nearly killed you,” Jaime said incredulously, voice unsteady.

 _Oh._ Right. That. Bart almost laughed.

“Pft, please. I was crash the whole time,” Bart shrugged with a small, cocky smile. “Decoy, remember? You need to try a little harder than that to kill a speedster, her-man-o.”

“It’s not funny, ese,” Jaime crossed his arms, the guilt plastered all over his face. “If Rocket had been even one second later—”

“—She wasn’t.”

“—Then I would have—”

“You didn’t,” Bart said firmly.

“But—”

“Jaime,” Bart interrupted loudly. Jaime’s mouth closed, shocked into silence from the Bart's unusually serious tone. Bart’s gaze softened. “That wasn’t _you_ ,” he said firmly. “I don’t blame you. _The Team_ doesn’t blame you. Don’t let the Reach fool you into thinking any of this was your fault.” Jaime still didn’t look convinced. “Their hold on you is gone now, Blue,” he said, more gently. “So don’t let them keep lingering voluntarily. Okay?”

Jaime nodded shallowly, some of the tension appearing to loosen in his shoulders as he tried for a smile.

“Since when did you become the mature one?” he teased gently.

Bart crossed his arms behind his head. “I have my moments.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Jaime said shyly. “And, you know, thank you,” he said earnestly. “For helping to bring me back.”

Bart smiled softly, knocking lightly into his shoulder. “Anytime, Blue.”

 

 

+

 

 

It didn’t usually sink in, almost dying. Not right away, anyhow. There would sometimes be a second of adrenaline fueled panic, but then the bad guy would miss, or he would dodge, and then it was onto the next move. No time to worry about it. Too busy fighting to stay alive.

This time was different.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Jaime said, horrified, as he stared at Scarab’s re-scan.

“What? What’s the matter?” Bart zipped back to his side, their MFD lying broken and useless on the ground. Jaime pointed to the map.

“We missed one!” Jaime spluttered angrily. “Look, the stupid scan wasn’t able to pick this up the first time. There’s still one MFD left.” Bart’s face fell.

“I—okay,” Bart took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Crap, okay, whatever, it’s just one more. We’ll figure something out, just call it in,” he said hurriedly. Jaime’s hand was already on his comm.

“Blue Beetle to Watchtower,” he reported urgently, “I’m reading a twenty-first MFD, in the arctic, hidden from my previous scans from the Earth’s north magnetic pole. Sending coordinates.”

He had to stay calm. Bart was right, it was just one more, how bad could it—

“There are no Zeta tubes in the arctic,” The Atom reminded over the comm. They exchanged a sharp glance. “How are we going to—?”

“Don’t worry gang,” Flash’s confident voice rang out. “I’ve got this.” Bart’s eyes widened.

 _“The Impulse—”_ Scarab tried to warn him.

Dust kicked up in Bart’s wake.

Oh no.

“Not without me you don’t!” Jaime’s heart stopped as Bart’s overly chipper tone came in over the comms instead of by his side. “Teams of two remember? Let’s go in and crash that MFD’s mode! Follow me, Gramps.”

Shit. Jaime flew frantically back to the nearest zeta tube. Would it have killed him to say something before just taking off like that? _“The Impulse is too fast,”_ Scarab said. " _Stopping him would have been impossible."_

“Idiota imprudente,” Jaime muttered as the zeta beam engulfed him.

The tension in the Watchtower was so heavy he could feel it settle on his shoulders the second he stepped in.

“Where are you going?” Jaime asked, flying over to Garfield as he followed Nightwing and Miss Martian toward the hanger.

“Wally took off to go help,” Gar said, brow furrowed in worry. “We’re heading there too, in the Bioship.”

Guess the behavior ran in the family. Literally.

“Can we actually do anything to help them?” Jaime asked, looking to Nightwing.

“Maybe not,” Nightwing said. “But they’ll be too exhausted to run home once it’s done.”

Jaime’s chest tightened.

“I’m coming with you,” he asserted. Nightwing forced a small smile.

“I assumed as much.”

They piled onto the ship in silence, Jaime’s arms crossed tightly as they all took their seats.

 _This_ almost dying? This was very different.

This time, the ride felt endless.

This time, as the whirlwind rose over the snow, there was simultaneously too much time to think and not enough time to react.

This time, one of them didn’t make it to that next moment.

As the snow settled and the reality sunk in, Artemis’ sobs the only sound for miles, Jaime wasn’t sure what won out. Relief, or shame at his relief, to see that person hadn’t been Bart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiota imprudente = Reckless idiot
> 
> Hope you're enjoying so far! Like I said last chapter, feel free to let me know any corrections as I start peppering in more Spanish (there's hardly any in this chap, but still).
> 
> The next chapter is quite a bit longer than this one (13k and counting), since this chap was mainly skimming through the events of S2, whereas the rest of the fic will take place post S2. That said, it may be 2-3 weeks before it's ready to be posted. I'll do my best to finish it up ASAP! :)
> 
> Update 7/3/19: Okay, so 2-3 weeks was WAY overly optimistic, but the next chap is ALMOST done!! Just need to finish editing. Hopefully any of y'all that find this fic bc of what just happened in the new S3 eps will find it cathartic in some way. Chap 4 will be a lot of fluff as well, so look forward to that! :)


	3. The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A giant, enormous thank you to potooyoutoo and CasualThursday for putting up w my constant babbling about this fic and for looking it over for me!! They are the actual best.
> 
> Hopefully the crazy 20k+ length of this chapter makes up for it being so late! Spanish translations are in the end notes if you need them.
> 
> Relationships are hard, man. Enjoy the fluff and angst!

If Bart had ever stopped to wonder what it would feel like when his mission was over, he wouldn’t have expected it to feel like...this.

The Reach was gone.

Wally was dead.

His thoughts kept ping-ponging between those two facts like they were the only things that mattered, the intensity of his fluctuating relief and grief giving him whiplash. Despite the future opening up to him in a way he’d never imagined, he felt...stuck.

His work with the Team kept him busy, but the whole retro, superhero gig had always felt secondary. He’d always had a bigger project, higher stakes. With that over and done with—with that _gone_ —he was left with nothing but a new suit full of expectations and a question that left him crawling out of his skin: _now what?_

“—Well, he didn’t realize you’re supposed to give the dressing room attendant what you _don’t_ want, so he handed her the wrong pile and then pulled out his wallet, trying to pay there even though there’s no cash register in sight,” Jaime said amusedly. “She was confused for a second, but, obviously no big deal, right? Except you should have seen Rob’s _face_. He looked at Bart like he’d done the dumbest shit he’d literally ever seen. The little hijo de papá had his nose turned up and everything, I swear to god.” Gar laughed. 

“I did not!” Tim said indignantly, whipping a balled up piece of his math homework at Jaime’s head.

“Don’t even play, ese, you definitely did,” Jaime laughed, throwing the paper back at him. “Didn’t he, Bart?”

“Hm?” Bart asked, his knee jiggling, not really listening.

“Last week at the mall when fancy pants here dragged us out to get suits,” Jaime said. “And you had the fitting room incident? Remember?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Bart smiled automatically. Jaime’s grin faded as he gave him a searching look.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you this weekend?” Jaime asked, more gently. Bart shrugged. The last thing he wanted to think about at the moment was Wally’s public memorial service.

“Thanks, Blue, but it’s alright. Don’t feel obligated. Gar and Artemis will be there already, and the seniors. I’ll be fine.”

“It still doesn’t feel real, you know?” Gar said soberly. “I’m so used to him not being around since he was off at college...it almost feels like nothing’s changed. Like maybe he’s just too busy to come home, as usual.”

“Yeah,” Bart said quietly, entirely motionless as he felt the knot behind his ribs harden painfully.

“Hey,” Gar said, bumping Bart’s knee with his tail, “you know he’d be proud right? Of you taking up the KF mantle. M’gann told me that he’d been thinking of passing it on to you for a while.”

“I know,” Bart lied with a thin smile. “It was one of the last things he told me, that night at the Summit. He said after he and Artemis went back into retirement, I should take on the role.” He looked away, biting back that it wasn’t the same. That _this_ , that Wally _dying_ , wasn’t what either of them had in mind. Jaime brought a warm hand to his shoulder, the wave of grief receding again as he gave a reassuring squeeze.

“Well if nothing else, you sure as hell gave the bad guys a reason to worry about KF being back on the scene. We kicked some serious ass tonight.”

“Cheers to _that_ ,” Tim said, clinking his mug filled with what was probably his fourth or fifth cup of coffee that evening against the rim of Gar’s glass of lemonade.

“Rob, buddy, pal. I don’t know if you noticed, but it is _one o’clock_ in the morning,” Bart pointed out, warm amusement rippling through him. Even through the sunglasses, Bart could tell Tim was shooting him a look as he took a long sip.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you hear me judging you about your 3AM mozzarella sticks every other mission?” he countered. Bart grinned despite himself, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so,” Tim said with finality.

He tried to remind himself that at least his friends were here. Even if he didn’t know what to do with himself, even if he couldn’t help feeling like a total _fraud_ , his friends were all still alive. Wally was gone, and it hurt like living hell, but the _world_ wasn’t. In the future he’d left, he’d lost his parents, most of his friends, his hopes, his freedom. At least now, thanks to one of the best men he’d ever know, they’d all live to see the future. And it would be a better one.

“Well, I’m officially wiped,” Garfield yawned, tail uncurling as he stretched. “Gonna say screw it to the rest of this homework and get some sleep. ‘Night, guys.”

“Yeah, I should head back too. My mom will get worried,” Jaime said, standing up and rolling his neck.

“See you guys tomorrow, then,” Tim said, scribbling out equations on a fresh sheet of graph paper.

“Hermano, one of these days you’re going to die of sleep deprivation,” Jaime said with amused exasperation. “You’ve been up for what, two days straight already?”

“Bats are nocturnal, Blue,” Tim said evenly.

“He probably just wants to wait until _Cassie_ gets back,” Gar teased, imitating a swoon. Tim shrugged noncommittally, cheeks reddening slightly. Jaime’s grin dissolved. 

“What’s that about me?” A warm voice called out across the room. A very sleepy looking crew of their friends filed out of the hall that led to the hanger, acknowledging the four boys with half-hearted smiles or waves as they passed, all heading to the guest rooms for some well-deserved rest.

“Nothing,” Gar said with an obvious smirk. “Catch you guys later.” Cassie raised an eyebrow, leaning an arm on Tim’s shoulder as she reached them.

“Somehow, I get the feeling you dorks are causing trouble over here,” she nudged. Tim leaned back to look up at her, his smile taking on a whole new, softer shape.

“Maybe. You going to do something about it?” he asked. She rolled her eyes, pecking a kiss to the top of Tim’s forehead.

“Uh huh, I’ll get right on that. Just as soon as I sleep away the next, like, ten years of my life,” she joked tiredly. Bart suppressed a snort at just how pleased the youngest Robin looked with himself as he and Jaime said their goodbyes.

Jaime was unusually quiet all the way to the Watchtower Zeta tubes.

“Huh,” Bart mused, looking amusedly at Jaime.

“What?” Jaime asked.

“You like Cassie, don’t you?” Bart smirked, crossing his arms behind his head.

“What? No!” Jaime balked, speaking too quickly. Bart laughed.

“Y’know, Blue, it really is impressive that you’ve managed to be both a professional hero _and_ the worst liar in the world.” Jaime shoved him lightly.

“Dude, shut up. I don’t—I mean, fine, okay I _did_ —but I don’t _now!_ It was _months_ ago. I’m over it,” Jaime stuttered, embarrassed.

“Right,” Bart teased. “Your moded silence is definitely backing you up here.”

“Hermano, we literally just finished kicking out an entire army of aliens that were trying to get me, _personally_ , to take over the world,” Jaime bristled. “When would I have had time to worry about some dumb crush in all that?”

Bart made a _concerted_ effort to swallow down a self-deprecating laugh.

“Hermano, if I knew people in the apocalyptic future who found time to worry about dumb crushes, then trust me, it’s possible here,” he pointed out dryly.

“Okay, who’s yours then if you’re such an expert?” Jaime asked, crossing his arms.

“Pft, I didn’t say _I_ had one,” he lied smoothly, forcing a wide grin. So long as Jaime remained clueless, he was perfectly content to leave the issue for another day.

Calling it crush didn’t seem right anyway. He’d heard his other teammates rave and lament about the people they were tripping over themselves for; had seen them blush and stare and whisper and giggle to each other over something as small and lame as a thumbs up. He didn’t feel like that around Jaime. Calling it love, though, seemed...over dramatic. He just felt comfortable. At home. Like he wouldn’t get tired of his company no matter how much time they spent together. Whatever it was, Tim had made a point to call it “obvious.” He was more inclined to stick with ironic. Or maybe idiotic.

“My point is just that it’s very, totally, probably, possible that _you_ , Jaime Reyes, have got the looove bug,” he sang, poking Jaime between the shoulder blades, right in the center of the scarab. Jaime smacked his hand away with a dramatic eye roll.

“Eres un patada en los huevos, ¿lo sabes?” he muttered under his breath, typing the correct location into the Zeta tube.

“Hey!” Bart said indignantly. Jaime leveled a look at him.

“There’s no way you knew what that meant,” he said.

“No, but I can tell it’s not _nice_ ,” Bart pouted. He saw Jaime’s lips twitch into a smile, just for a millisecond, before his eyes were rolling again. “See you Monday?” Bart asked, a bit more tentatively than he meant to. Jaime glanced over his shoulder, taken aback.

“Oh, you aren’t coming over?” he asked with genuine surprise, pointing his thumb at the Zeta tube as if it were simply self-evident that Bart would tag along. That Jaime would want him to. Bart felt a squeeze in his chest.

To be fair, it had become pretty typical for him to stay over Friday nights. At least, before the Reach had shown their hand with Moded Blue. But that had been because the Reach crisis had been hanging over their heads and Jaime had wanted Bart watching his back (literally). Now that the whole thing was over, Bart hadn’t been sure if Jaime still wanted to spend time with him outside the Team.

“I’d have to run home to get my stuff,” he said.

“You could borrow mine if you want,” Jaime shrugged. “Besides, my little sister’s been asking for you. I, uh, might have promised her we’d _both_ take her to the park tomorrow,” he said bashfully. Bart laughed, his grin turning genuine.

“Well if you _promised_ ,” Bart conceded, something in him relaxing as Jaime pressed a teasing shove to the small of his back, scooting him toward the beam.

 

+

 

“Hey, Blue, have you seen Bart?” Garfield asked Jaime, leaping onto the back of the chair opposite him. Jaime glanced up from his physics book.

“Uh, he said he’d be here for the briefing at 5, I think,” Jaime answered. “Something wrong?”

“Nah,” Gar said, “Just wanted to show him something. Hey can you tell Aqualad I’ll be late? Just by a few minutes. Gotta grab some stuff down on the ground.”

“Sure,” Jaime nodded, looking morosely back at the rest of the pile of schoolwork he’d brought with him to the Watchtower. As cool as it was to be on the orbiting base, a trip back down to the surface sounded far more appealing at the moment.

He sighed to himself as Gar bounded away, pushing his textbook across the table. He might as well hold off on the physics it until Bart got there. He always got through it much faster with his help.

Just as he felt himself starting to settle into his packet of history articles instead, though—

“You busy, Blue?” Batgirl approached, hardly looking at him as she tapped away at the tablet in her arms. Jaime blinked, dragging his mind away from World War II battles and back to the present.

“Not if you need me, boss,” Jaime said, rolling his neck. “Que pasa?” She looked up to toss him a smile.

“Nothing major, just heard word from Captain Atom that some Leaguers brought in an unknown substance from some baddie last night and were hoping Scarab could analyze it. Would you mind stopping by the lab sometime before we deploy?”

“Yeah, will do,” he agreed.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” She asked, placing the tablet on the table and circling him to inspect the bruising poking out from under his shirt. He shrugged the opposite shoulder.

It hadn’t been a huge deal. He’d just caught Bart at an awkward angle during a training exercise the other day, his shoulder knocking against the edge of some jutting surface as they went down, just before he’d been able to finish suiting up.

“It’s fine when I’m sitting up. Scarab says it should be mostly healed up in a few days. Made sleeping a pain in the ass last night, though.”

“I can slot you in for recon tonight if you want. Little less demanding,” she offered.

“I’ll be alright,” Jaime said. “Thanks though.” She nodded, starting to walk away.

“Oh,” she called back over her shoulder, “Did Bart pick up those files I left him, by the way?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?” Jaime said, brows knitting slightly. It was a bit weird that she’d expect him to know that.

“Okay, well let him know they’re on a USB with his name on it by my setup,” she said, walking away.

“Uh, okay, sure,” Jaime said, perplexed. Why didn’t she tell Bart himself? He’d be here soon anyhow.

Shrugging, he settled himself in for one more push. If he could just finish taking notes on _one_ more article, he could get up and grab a cookie or something. Miss Martian almost always had some fresh ones lying around somewhere.

As his eyes tracked across the pages, however, his mind kept drifting. He scrubbed at his face with his hands, wishing, not for the first time, that he could have a photographic memory like Barbara or Bart so he’d never have to take another page of notes the rest of his junior year.

“Smoothie?” Robin’s voice suddenly piped up behind him. “Looks like you need one.” Jaime jumped, twisting around. Tim shot him a small smile, holding out some sort of bright pink concoction.

“And here I thought you only ever accepted caffeine-laced, chemical-ridden bullshit into your body,” Jamie teased, accepting the cup. Mmm, mango and strawberries.

“Ha, ha,” Tim said sarcastically, taking a seat across from him and sipping obnoxiously through his straw. Jaime rolled his eyes, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at his head. Tim dodged deftly without even trying, assessing the room with a small frown. “Where’s Bart?” he asked, confused. Jaime threw a hand in the air.

“Seriously? You’re the third person in the last hour to ask me about him. Do I look like his babysitter?”

“No, that would insinuate that we pay you,” Tim smirked. Jaime shot him a look. “What? You’re together like ninety percent of the time, Blue,” Tim pointed out amusedly. “I hardly recognize you without him attached to your hip.”

“He is not—” Jaime scoffed.

“Whoawhoawhoa, is that a _smoothie_ , in Robin’s hand?” A voice blew through the room, Jaime’s homework fluttering on the table as the topic of their conversation finally appeared in front of them. “Who are you and what have you done with Tim Drake?” he demanded, swiping it and taking a long sip. Jaime watched them squabble over it, eyes tracking the speedster’s laughing face and thinking over the past week.

Sure, he and Bart spent plenty of time together, but they weren't _that_ inseparable were they? They went to school halfway across the country from each other, for one thing. And he wasn’t—oh, wait, no, he _was_ at his house for dinner on Monday. And they’d done homework together on Tuesday before their patrol. Which they’d been paired up for.

Okay, but _Wednesday_ they hadn’t hung out at all, had they? Though...they had texted most of the evening.

Huh.

 _“Jaime Reyes, the Tim Drake’s assessment is inaccurate,”_ Scarab interjected. “ _By my calculations, you spend an average of 4 hours a day interacting with the Bart Allen, including text-based communication, which calculates to only 24% of your total waking hours per week.”_ Jaime blinked, eyes widening. _Twenty-four?_ Damn, that was still practically a _quarter_ of his entire week!

“Waking _week,”_ Scarab corrected. “ _I detect no issues with the current arrangement,”_ he added curiously. _“Mood analysis indicates a high correlation between the Bart Allen’s presence and a positive mental state.”_

Jaime resisted rolling his eyes. It wasn’t a _problem_. It was just a lot. No wonder people were treating him as a go-to for questions about Bart, he was spending even more time with him than he was spending with _Tye._ By a large margin, actually, considering Tye declined the invite to join the team ages ago.

 _“This information should not come as a surprise to you, Jaime Reyes,”_ the scarab said. _“You and the Bart Allen continuously seek out each other’s affection.”_ Jaime’s cheeks warmed.

 _“I mean, yeah, that’s just what friendship_ is _, ese,”_ Jaime replied flusteredly in his mind. _“Bart and I are tight, that’s all. He’s always had my back, you know?”_ Plenty of other Team partners had a similar dynamic, right?

Granted, Bart had always been, well, _handsier_ with Jaime than their other friends, but that wasn’t—it was just—Jaime just didn’t mind as much as the others did. After all, Bart was only fourteen. He should be allowed to be a goofy, touchy, kid if he wanted to be. It wasn’t exactly like they had a lot of opportunities to act their age when being _superheroes_ was their main extracurricular. Bart would be the same way with the rest of them if they let him. Probably.

Tim finally won out on the smoothie situation, but not before Bart had managed to gulp down at least a solid eighth of it, the mischievous gleam in his eyes making them look an even brighter green than usual. Jaime’s stomach fluttered strangely.

“You okay, Blue?” Bart asked, turning to face him. Jaime blinked, realizing he’d been staring.

“Sí—I mean, yeah,” he dismissed quickly, pointedly ignoring the growing smirk Tim was tossing in his direction. “Uh, Batgirl wanted me to tell you she has a USB for you,” he said distractedly, not quite meeting Bart’s eye as he tried vainly to will down the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“Oh, crash, thanks,” Bart grinned, speeding off to find it. Tim was already laughing into his hand before their brains had finished registering his absence.

“Something the matter, Blue?” he teased with an absolutely shit-eating grin. Jaime kicked at him, letting out a small, frustrated noise when Tim once again dodged easily.

“Whatever, cabrón,” Jaime muttered, not unkindly. “It’s still way less than the amount of time _you’ve_ been spending attached to Cassie.”

“Interesting comparison,” Tim said, his smug look of ‘you just walked perfectly into that one,’ wholly betraying the innocence of his tone as he added, “Are you suggesting the situations are similar?”

Tim ducked as Jaime chucked his entire textbook at him.

 

+

 

Bart hadn’t expected to see a room full of people when he arrived at the Watchtower.

Tim had reached out to him stupidly early in the morning. The previous night had been long and cold and the mission hadn’t exactly gone smoothly, so all Bart wanted to do was sleep for a few...more...hours. But no. When he didn’t answer the first call, his phone simply erupted into one long vibration that barely paused for breath as a slew of notifications poured in one after another, piling up on his home screen with a vengeance. 

“Oh good, you _are_ alive,” Tim had said when Bart finally answered, far too awake for his liking. He’d merely groaned resentfully in response. “Has anyone told you to report to the Watchtower yet?”

“Was sleeping,” Bart had pouted.

“Not anymore,” Tim said. “Swing by this afternoon. 3ish.”

So there he was, partially out of duty and partially because one does not simply say ‘no’ to Tim Drake.

For a millisecond, seeing so many people, he panicked. It hadn’t sounded like an emergency, had something bad—

“Happy birthday!” a chorus of voices shouted from around the room, his teammates all jumping into various ridiculous poses while a handful of JLA members and the Garricks smiled endearingly at him.

Oh.

He blinked, frozen in place as Garfield leaped over and stuck a pointy cardboard hat on his head, laughter and big smiles mirroring each other all around the room.

It was rare to see this many of his friends in civvies all at once. Red and yellow balloons were scattered around everywhere, bouncing along the floor and off his teammates’ hands as they batted them at each other. The whole place smelled like frosting and hot cocoa.

Tim smiled smugly from where he was leaning against the wall, Jaime looking equally pleased with himself beside him as they fist bumped discreetly. The Watchtower hadn’t been this colorful or festive since Christmas and New Years. Was...had they done all this for _him?_

“I, uh. Wow,” Bart said, heat prickling behind his eyes. He looked to Barry, at a loss, who chuckled, crossing the room to drape an arm over his shoulders.

“I know, I know, it’s a little much,” Barry grinned, gesturing to the absurd amount of streamers and the frankly enormous cake sitting on a folding table that looked to be sagging slightly from the weight. “but we didn’t really have a chance to celebrate properly last year, so consider it a two-for-one. Happy 15th birthday, kiddo.” Bart smiled, a little stupefied.

“Wow. This is nuts, guys. Thank you,” he said genuinely.

“Surprised?” Jaime asked once cake was served, settling next to him on the couch.

“That’d be an understatement, yeah,” Bart grinned. Jaime squinted at him slightly, smirk growing.

“You didn’t even remember it was your birthday, did you?” Jaime asked. Bart shrugged grinning guiltily. Jaime laughed.

He wasn’t sure when his actual birthday was. After his parents...well. When he and his couple of friends from the future had made the time to do birthdays, they just sort of ‘celebrated’ for all of them all at once. It wasn’t an exact system. The Garricks were the ones who’d given him this day, February 28th, since it was the day he’d shown up in the past. It suited him just fine. Jaime was right though, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that the date was coming up.

“Well, if you’re done inhaling that slice,” Jaime said casually, leaning over to pick up a wrapped box that had been leaning against the arm of the couch and placing it on Bart’s lap.

“Ooo, what’s this?” Bart asked, shaking it experimentally. It was fairly light and hardly rattled. Jaime pursed his lips as if clamping down a grin.

“You’ll never guess,” Jaime said confidently. He inclined his head toward the couch across from them where Barry was watching them with a soft smile. “It’s from Flash too.”

“From both of you?” Bart asked, perplexed, looking back down at the box.

“Yep. Open it,” Barry smiled wide, a secretive glint in his eyes. Bart squinted a look between the two of them, coming up completely empty on what might be inside that would have them looking so giddy, then slowly lifted the lid.

His mouth went slack.

Painstakingly, he lowered a shaking hand to the fabric, running his thumb over the Flash symbol, red on white...on yellow.

His stomach sank.

“Take it out,” Jaime blurted, no longer able to hide his excitement as he nervously fidgeted in a way usually only Bart was capable of. Bart swallowed, trying to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to disappoint them but not sure what, if anything, he could say. He knew the KF suit still didn’t fit him well but adjusting it—

Oh.

His eyes widened as he did as Jaime demanded, lifting the suit all the way out of the box. Something rose in his chest. It was…different. Wow, like, _really_ different!

“Whoa,” he murmured, a little awestruck.

“Well go on,” Barry grinned. “Try it on.”

In seconds Bart had dashed to the bathroom, vibrating out of the clothes he’d been wearing and superspeeding into the new suit, sliding on the boots and gloves that had been in the box underneath it.

It all fit perfectly.

He dashed to M’gann’s room and brought her full length mirror over to where Jaime and Barry were waiting, leaning it up against the couch, then stepped back, taking in his reflection.

A lump formed in his throat.

His hair spilled out of the circle of yellow at the top of the head piece, the color extending down under his jaw and glowing brightly on his gloves, boots, and torso, which, as he’d noted, proudly sported the Flash symbol in its center. The rest of the costume, though, was far more prominently _red_ than Wally’s was. A sleeker, darker, more metallic shade than what he’d had for his Impulse costume, running solidly down his arms and legs, across his collarbones, and up his neck, surrounding his ears. He lowered the rose-tinted visor, completing the look, and felt something click deep in his chest.

He let out a slow breath.

It...it had been so long since he’d felt anywhere near comfortable in his own skin while on the job. Since he’d felt like himself. This, though...it felt _right_.

Wally had always been pure sunshine. Warm, bright, confident, and in your face. The yellow costume had suited him. Bart, though, never managed to feel at home in it. It called too much attention to himself. Made him feel exposed. And he knew wearing it was rough on his teammates. Especially the older ones. Especially Artemis, no matter how much she denied it. This suit this though...this could be his. Not Impulse, but not Wally’s replacement either. His own chapter of the KF legacy. He glanced at Tim, who was shooting him a fond, understanding smile, and felt like he suddenly _got_ him in a way he never quite had before.

He looked up at Barry’s reflection in the mirror behind him, for once at a loss for words. Barry beamed, ruffling Bart’s hair and placing the other hand on his shoulder.

“Crash?” He asked. Bart choked out a laugh.

“Very, _very,_ crash,” he said earnestly, chest swelling as he switched his gaze meaningfully to Jaime, hoping his expression conveyed the depth of his gratitude better than his words could. “I...thank you.”

Jaime smiled proudly back, eyes absolutely sparkling as he nudged Bart’s elbow with his own, gesturing with a nod toward the zeta tubes. “Want to take it out for a spin?”

Bart laughed again, joyous this time and not at all forced, feeling lighter than he had in ages, and dashed away with a glance over his shoulder that dared Jaime to keep up.

 

+

 

With a running start, Jaime hopped onto his skateboard, booking it down the block as he made his way to the skatepark where he was supposed to be meeting Tye, Eduardo, and Bart.

It took about three seconds for him to regret wearing black as the sun beat down on him, but he was running too late to go back and change. Despite it, the warm air felt good whipping past his face and the blooming purple sage smelled like freedom. Graduation was over, summer was in full swing, and he couldn't be more relieved.

Unsurprisingly, the beautiful day had coaxed a decent crowd of other people to come to the park as well. Guided by the sound of Ed's taunting and Bart's laughter, however, Jaime located his friends within moments, eyes catching on the bright purple tank top hanging loosely on Bart's pale, freckled shoulders. He came to a stop by the low fence along the park's perimeter, watching Tye coach Bart through skating into and out of the bowl. Though going in went smoothly, Bart stumbled as he came back out, losing his balance and toppling comically onto the pavement at Tye’s feet.

Jaime tsked, leaning forward on the warm metal. “You really out here falling over like I taught you nothing?” 

Bart’s head whipped around, face lighting up as he got back to his feet. “Jaime! Hey!”

He hopped back onto Tye's board, rolling over to the fence and grinning from ear to ear as he wobbled to a stop in front of him. Jaime smiled softly back, catching him by the forearms to steady him.

“Hey, chiquito,” he said warmly.

“Ay, _finally_ ,” Ed called emphatically from near where Bart had taken his spill. “The hell have you been the past hour?”

“Almost an hour and _a half_ , now,” Tye corrected pointedly next to him, arms crossed.

“I know, I know, lo siento. I got caught up in something,” Jaime apologized, putting his hands up.

“Excuses, excuses,” Bart chided, snatching Jaime’s cap and tossing it backwards onto his own head. “By the way, did you see my text earlier? Some new food trucks are gonna be setting up here on Tuesdays from now through the whole summer and ohmanoneofthemdoesthemost _crash_ slushiesitwaslikeactualheavenhermanoyoushouldhavetastedhowfreakinggooditwasIalmostdiedEddiesawme—”

“Right, because _that’s_ what you need. More sugar,” Jaime said as Scarab did his best to translate for him, circling the fence to reach for his hat back. Bart only grinned, rolling backwards out of reach as he babbled on.

The hat was definitely the wrong size, Bart’s mess of auburn hair sticking out at odd angles underneath it and making him look like an utter doofus. 

It was adorable and _entirely_ unacceptable.

“Lovethenewhatbytheway. Idon’tthinkI’veseenitbeforebutitsyourcollegemascotonitright? Prettysureyoushowedmeapictureofthestatuewhenyouwenttoacceptedstudent’sday—ormaybeitwaswhenyouwenttopickupyoursweatshirtafteryoudecidedI’mnotsurebutanyhownowthatyou’refinallyhereweshould—”

“—Oi, _slow_ your roll, velocista,” Ed protested with a fond eye roll as Bart and Jaime came up beside them. Bart blinked, realizing his mistake.

“Oh, whoops, sorry,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Got too excited.”

“No kidding. Honestamente, ¿cómo entiendes a este conejo?” Ed asked Jaime exasperatedly. Jaime laughed.

“¿Conejo? Más bien un guepardo, ¿sabes lo que digo?” he said, poking Bart in the stomach. Bart squirmed, making a face at him as he grabbed the offending finger while doing his best to keep his balance. Ed snorted. “Te acostumbras al cabo de un rato,” Jaime added with a shrug before smiling up at Bart and snatching his hat back. “¿Tengo razón, chiquito?”

Bart’s head tilted, eyeing Jaime with a small, confused smile. “I have no idea what you just said, but sure,” he said agreeably. Jaime laughed.

To Bart’s credit, he’d been getting much better at understanding phrases Jaime used often. This was understandably a little beyond him, but Jaime was pleased to see he’d gotten the gist of the last question he’d asked, at least.

Ed shook his head. “Si tú lo dices,” he said, pushing off into the bowl again.

Bart stared after him, still looking puzzled. “Wait, what’d Eddie call me?”

“Velocista?” Jaime asked.

“No, I know _that_. The other thing,” Bart said.

“Oh, un conejo? A rabbit. You know, like, ‘quick like a bunny?’ He was saying he doesn’t get how I can understand you when you’re talking a mile a minute," Jaime said, poking him again.

“Oh,” Bart smiled sheepishly. “So, what’d you tell him?”

“That you’re more like a cheetah, if we’re making _that_ comparison," Jaime teased, “but I’m used to it by now.”

Bart’s face glowed red. He laughed, ducking his head. “Oh that’s how it is, huh?” he asked, half-heartedly shoving Jaime despite looking awfully pleased with himself.

“What? It’s more badass than a _bunny_ ,” Jaime grinned, catching Bart's wrists and tugging him back in front of him before the momentum could carry him away.

Bart shrugged, still red to the tips of his ears even as a glint appeared in his eyes. “Just as cute though,” he said with an innocuous smile.

Jaime’s heart stuttered.

Oh, nope. No, gracias. He was _not_ going to blush, too. Not happening.

 _“Jaime Reyes, preventing such a reaction is not within my abilities—”_ Scarab reminded.

 _“I know, I wasn’t—”_ Jaime sighed internally. _“Just, never mind.”_

“Come on, give Tye his board back and try that again with mine,” he changed the subject. “I know I showed you how to do this before.”

 

+

 

A honk sounded loudly from in front of the house. Bart scooted to the window.

The car was way too nice to be anyone’s other than Tim’s, a theory furthered by the sight of Cassie leaning halfway out the window of the backseat, rocking a new pair of sunglasses and a bright crop top, her hair thrown up in a messy bun.

“Get in, loser, we’re going road tripping,” she yelled.

Bart grinned, throwing a handful of crap in a backpack and dashing out the door in less than five seconds.

“Sounds crash, where we going?” he asked cheerily as Cassie ducked back into the car. Gar was scooting into the middle to make room for him, also decked out in casual summer wear. Beach or camping trip maybe?

“Wherever our _chauffeur_ decides to take us,” Cassie said, a fake fancy accent out in full force as she gestured to the driver’s seat with a smug grin.

“Oh, great,” Bart joked, “should I be studying a printed out minute-by-minute itinerary?”

“Ha, _funny_ ,” Tim drawled from, surprisingly, the passenger seat, “but she wasn’t talking about me.”

Bart shot him a curious look, leaning inside Cassie’s window to investigate. Tim wouldn’t let just anyone drive his car.

His heart leapt.

“Dude, what?” Bart said excitedly, circling over to the driver’s side as the window lowered. “I thought you weren’t coming home for another week!”

Jaime lifted his sunglasses onto his head with a small, bright smile. “My professor let us skip out on the final for my last class if we had a 90 or above, so I got out early,” he explained, leaning out the window to scoop Bart into a one-armed hug.

O-oh.

“Really? That’s so crash, why didn’t you text me?” Bart said, mock affronted as he allowed himself to linger there. Just for a sec. It was always a treat when Jaime hugged him first.

He’d buzzed his hair short on the sides again the way Bart loved, the strands fuzzy against Bart’s cheek as he hooked his chin over Jaime’s shoulder. It was still freshly damp, leaving pinpricks of wetness on Bart’s skin, and _wow_  did he smell good. Like the crisp smell of _clean,_ but undercut with that hard to describe, pleasant muskiness of _cute boy,_ and amped up with something that was entirely Jaime. It was kind of making Bart’s head spin.

“What, and miss out on a chance to surprise you all?” Jaime scoffed, pulling away.

Bart straightened up reluctantly, trying not to let himself stare at how the sunlight was catching Jaime’s eyes, showing off the subtle ring of amber not normally noticeable around the otherwise rich, familiar brown.

It felt like maybe he was breathing wrong.

 _Oof._ He should really not be so moded after only a month apart. It was like his every automatic reaction to Jaime’s—well, _everything,_ was suddenly cranked up to eleven just because he’d been deprived for, what, barely a freaking second? Could his hormones maybe _chill_ , please?

He tossed on a wider smile and then zipped over to the backseat to slide in next to Garfield, putting distance between them before he could do something stupid like reach for another hug, or three.

“Well, lead the way, el capitán,” he said exuberantly, winking with a two finger salute.

Jaime brought them onto the freeway, heading to Central City’s vehicle-sized Zeta tube with plans to head north west. It was easy, comfortable, with Tim leaving Gar in charge of the playlist and Cassie humming along to every new song.

“So, Jaime, when do we get to meet all your new college friends?” Cassie asked as the city came into view.

“You? Never,” Jaime said amusedly. “The last thing I need is you, Traci, and Natasha getting along. I’ll never have a moment of peace again.”

He grinned, holding an arm up defensively as Cassie smacked his shoulder.

“Are those the girls from the last Insta post you were tagged in?” she asked.

“Yeah, that was on Nat’s page I think,” Jaime said distractedly, following Tim’s pointed finger as he led him toward the bridge that the Zeta beam was hidden beneath.

“Didn’t you go on a date with a Traci awhile back?” Gar asked as his thumbs flew across his phone screen, playing some mobile game. Bart stiffened. Jaime shot Gar an incredulous look in the rearview mirror.

“How’d _you_ hear about that?” he asked, gaze sliding over to Bart. Whoops.

“What?” Bart asked, clutching his chest. “Don’t look at _me_ , I didn’t say a thing!” Jaime’s eyebrow rose skeptically.

“Wow. Are you guys seeing this?” Bart lamented. “Blue, hermano, we all know that I am only the _second_ most likely person in this car to have done such a thing, come on.” Jaime laughed.

“Whatever you say, chiquito,” Jaime shook his head.

To be fair, Jaime hadn’t said it was a secret...and he hadn’t known anyone else was in earshot when he was whining to Tim about it.

“Um, excuse you, why didn’t _I_ hear about it?” Cassie asked, aghast. “Jaime Reyes, have you had a secret college girlfriend this whole time and didn’t tell us?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Nah. We both decided after maybe ten minutes that it wasn’t going to be like that between us,” he said. “But that was way back in October. Traci and Nat are the ones who are together, not her and me. They’re both awesome though, we hang out all the time.”

“ _What?_ Oh my god, what a _power_ couple, is it even legal for two people that pretty to be together?” Cassie asked, scrolling through her phone.

“Asks Wonder Girl, girlfriend to Gotham’s second most eligible bachelor,” Gar said amusedly, bumping her knee.

“Aw, Gar,” Cassie cooed, hugging an arm around his neck. Bart snorted.

“Please, BB, I’ve _seen_ Tim first thing in the morning. He and Cass aren’t getting locked up anytime soon,” Bart said. Gar cupped a hand to his mouth and let out a long ‘Oooooo!’

Tim shook his head with a smile from the front seat, flipping Bart off. “Hang on to something, we’re beaming through in ten.”

Though not immediately apparent when they beamed out on the other side, camping did turn out to be the end goal, the pretty tree-lined roads they eventually meandered onto leading to a secluded spot right near a lake.

Bart left most of the unpacking and setting up to the others, choosing instead to...scope out the area. You know, for _safety_.

After said quick assessment, he had to wonder if Tim had secretly rented the whole place out the moment Jaime told him about it, because the rest of the sites were completely deserted.

When he got back, he noticed Tim had ignored the parking spaces in favor of creating his own close to their little zone, starting to unload the coolers and bags of food onto the nearby picnic table. Garfield had just tossed down an extra bag of ice onto the center of it when Tim groaned in annoyance from the trunk.

“ _Bart_ ,” he called dangerously.

Bart turned his head, shrinking a little under Tim’s glare. He pulled out the doe eyes.

“What? What’d I do?” he asked.

Tim lifted a handful of chocolate wrappers pointedly. “Who let you have these?”

Uh oh.

“ _Oh_ , those? Gar said we didn’t need them all,” he said, scuffing his shoe in the dirt with the _utmost innocence_. Tim leveled a look at him, then a full on Bat-glare at Garfield.

Gar side-eyed Bart with a look of betrayal, clearing his throat. “In my defense, there weren’t any other snacks in the car within reaching distance,” he said. “Also, toasted marshmallows by themselves are better than actual s’mores and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on.”

Tim sighed, slamming the trunk shut and walking purposefully toward them with the rest of the gear.

Bart and Gar scrambled, both trying to hide behind the other’s back until Gar finally decided to cheat, transforming into an adorable green cat and hopping into Bart’s arms. Bart chuckled nervously as Tim reached them, arms crossed in full-on Team Leader mode.

"Aw, come on, Robbie, you wouldn't hurt an innocent kitty would you?" Bart asked, holding Garfield towards him. Gar mewled and tilted his head, his little paws sticking straight out and floofy body dangling down like a long, floppy noodle.

Unmoved, Tim bopped Gar on the nose with the end of a roasting stick.

Bart gasped, yanking Gar back to his chest and cradling him there. He stumbled a little as Gar transformed back into a boy, lying limply with his tongue hanging out in Bart's arms.

"Noooo!" Bart cried. "Cut down in the prime of his youth!"

Tim rolled his eyes, bopping Bart on the top of the head, too, for good measure. Bart shouted and dropped instantly, he and Gar collapsing in a pile of limbs.

Pine needles crunched as Cassie sighed dramatically, walking over and hooking her sneaker under Gar's limp form, rolling him off of Bart’s stomach.

"Sheesh, first you make me pitch the tent, then you make me dispose of the bodies," she complained, scooping Bart and Gar effortlessly into her arms as they yelped. "Anything else you can trouble me for?" Tim’s lips flickered into a razor sharp smirk. 

"Just be thorough hiding the evidence,” he answered with a wink.

Cassie laughed. “Excuse you, Mr. Detective, I am a _professional_ ,” she said, lifting off into the air and, much to both her captives’ dismay, crossing the short distance to the lake.

Her grip was unforgiving as she flew, ignoring any and all protest from both Bart and Gar as they struggled for their freedom.

“ _Cassie_ , put us down,” Bart whined, pouting as he clung to her side like a koala. Cassie smirked.

“I mean, okay, if you insist,” she sang, lifting them away by the backs of their shirts and dropping them unceremoniously toward the water below.

“Nononodon’t—” Bart squawked, flailing as he fell.

Gar immediately transformed into a falcon, escaping with a loud ‘caw.’ Bart, however, had little he could do with such a short drop. Even as the world slowed around him, his speed giving him a prolonged reaction time, his only real option was to brace himself, landing with a sharp splash in the bone-chilling water and sinking like a stone.

_Holyshitholyshitcoldcoldcoldcold!_

Kicking wildly back upwards, he resurfaced with a gasp, spluttering indignantly as he flicked his sopping hair from his eyes. Tim and Cassie’s laughter echoed across the water as she landed on the dock with a dazzling smile, smug as could be.

Still catching his breath, Bart pointed two fingers at his eyes and swiveled them to point at her. She laughed louder, starting to run away as Bart swam the few feet back to the dock, hoisting himself onto the wooden planks and taking off after her.

Even without using his powers, Cassie was no match for him in terms of speed. Within moments Bart was nearly on her, a triumphant grin rising to his lips as she detoured around the picnic table, trying to get it between Bart and herself.

“Ooh, big mistake,” Bart laughed, scooping the ice bag off the middle of the table as he bounded up and over it. Cassie shrieked, trying to dodge, but Bart was quicker, dumping the bag’s entire contents over her head.

She swore, twirling around on the spot as she tried to dislodge all the ice from her clothing. Garfield transformed back into himself not far behind them as Bart whooped victoriously, clutching at his stomach with laughter.

Jaime emerged from the woods with an armful of twigs, glancing around at them all, perplexed.

“Seriously? I was gone for five minutes. What did you guys do?” he asked exasperatedly.

Bart turned, faking a gasp as he saw him.

“Jaime!” he exclaimed like he hadn’t seen him in years, tossing his arms open as his grin sharpened.

“Oh no, don’t you dare,” Jaime warned, dancing away as Bart came at him, still soaking wet.

Jaime dropped the branches on the ground, readying a leap into the air to escape him. Unfortunately for him, though, the second it took for the armor to start to spring up was still enough opportunity for Bart to scoot across the tiny distance before it could shield him.

Jaime flinched with a yelp as Bart flung his arms around him in a tight hug. Half a second later his scrunched eyes reopened, blinking in surprise.

“Oh,” he said, touching Bart’s shirt. The brief burst of superspeed had wicked all the water off of him, leaving him perfectly dry as he squeezed Jaime affectionately.

“What? What’d you think I was trying to do?” Bart asked innocently. Jaime huffed as Bart giggled, shoving him playfully away with a small smile.

Even without proper s’mores, it was still nice to sit around the campfire as the sun set. The lake shone pink and gold as they roasted their hot dogs and marshmallows, the wood smelling like summery heaven.

"Oh, _here's_ something you all missed," Jaime said, inspecting the marshmallow he'd been holding over the flames. "Guess who decided to take a name?"

Tim looked up from his s’more, surprised. "Oh. Was that why you were at STAR last week?"

“Yeah, our usual six month check-in,” Jaime said. “They like to track what Scarab learns over time, you know?”

Gar's brow scrunched in confusion. "Wait, you’re talking about _Scarab_?"

Bart stiffened fractionally.

"Mhm," Jaime nodded, covering his mouth as he chewed.

“Whoa,” Cassie's brows raised, shaking her hair out as she put on Tim's sweatshirt. "That's kind of wild. What’d he pick?"

"Khaji Da," Jaime said. "He said it's the Reach serial number that he was assigned. It was kind of funny actually, I'd never heard him be shy about anything before, ever, but he was pretty hesitant about this.”

“Aw,” Cassie smiled. “He’s really developed into being his own person, huh? Who’d’ve thought.”

"I mean, he _is_ biotech,” Tim said. “Makes sense to me that he’d way surpass what we could expect from a purely computerized Earth-made AI.”

A complicated array of emotions squeezed at Bart’s chest.

 _His mode’s crashed._ I _crashed it. Me and Zee and the others. That can’t be undone._

He took a deep breath.

 _Scarab and Jaime are friends now. This is a_ good _sign, not a bad one. No reason to worry._

“Huh, noted,” Gar said. “That’s pretty crash, I didn’t realize Scarab—er, Khaji, was in the same category as like, Sphere or the bioship.”

“More or less, yeah,” Jaime said.

He glanced at Bart as if checking that he was still beside him. Guess he’d been quiet too long.

Bart conjured a smile, leaning around to look at Jaime’s back. “Khaji Da, huh?” he said. “You know, that’s got a pretty nice ring to it.”

Jaime smiled back, sticking another marshmallow on the end of Bart’s stick. Bart was fairly sure he stared into the embers a little too long as he roasted it.

_‘His own person.’_

It really wasn’t crash how such a tiny thing could throw him for a loop so fast.

The scarab had been off mode for just shy of _three_ years. Not once had it— _he_ given Bart _any_ reason to worry. There was no logical reason for him to suddenly feel like his brain was moving too fast, randomly spiraling off into directions it had no business going.

Case in point, if his dumb brain had done its job right of staying on track, then _maybe_ it would have occurred to him _sooner_ what the freaking _sleeping situation was going to look like_ that night. Instead, that little moment of panic saved itself for a couple of hours after nightfall as Tim and Cassie started to get ready to turn in.

"What, already?" Bart asked. "There's still a whole thing of marshmallows left!"

"Yeah, for _you_ , dummy," Cassie teased. " _I_ came prepared, unlike a certain someone in the chocolate department." She poked Tim in the chest with a smirk. Tim rolled his eyes, poking her in the sides where she was ticklish.

"Yeah, gee, Bart, I can't _imagine_ why they're turning in early. To their separate tent. Alone," Garfield said sarcastically with a smirk.

Tim flipped Gar off as Gar and Jaime snickered, but he looked awfully smug about it.

Jaime went to take a sip of his drink only to realize it was empty. Bart suddenly felt hyper aware of the brush of his arm as he got up to grab another.

He, Gar, and Jaime were all going to have to share the other tent. The other very _small_  tent, because, _doi_ , of course they were.

He could already feel the blush creeping onto his cheeks thinking of being squished in that close to Jaime the whole night. Usually when Bart stayed over with him he and Jaime traded off using an air mattress, avoiding that problem entirely. He could _try_ to make sure Gar was in the middle or something, but. Ugh, _why_ hadn't he thought ahead about this?

"Tim and Cassie sittin' in a tree," Gar sang tauntingly as the couple walked away. Cassie rolled her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder, but her lips quirked as she switched her gaze to Tim.

Without another word she scooped Tim off the ground and leapt into the air, perching on the thickest branch of the nearest pine. All three boys on the ground burst into laughter, Jaime wolf whistling as Cassie planted a long kiss on Tim’s surprised mouth. It was too dark to see Tim’s face from where they were sitting, but based on the way Cassie was laughing at him as she brought them both back to the ground, Bart could imagine just how red he was.

A little shiver ran down Bart’s spine as Jaime absentmindedly tucked Bart’s tag back into his shirt, stepping over the log to take a seat beside him again and holding out an extra soda. Bart took it, eyes lingering on Jaime’s face.

Jaime didn’t notice, busy sprawling out comfortably, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tossed back a gulp of his own drink. He laughed at something Gar said that Bart was too distracted to pay attention to, his eyes dancing in the firelight as if they were made of that same bright warmth.

Bart’s throat tightened.

Jeeze. Jaime really just...did stuff like that without thinking twice about it. As if considering Bart’s wants alongside his own was second nature for him. Not even a pause for a thank you.

It was just...it was _so much_ , the idea that he could really just be _there_ in the back of Jaime’s mind like that.

“Hey, we have a hammock right?” Bart asked, a shade too quickly. “Did it get hung up?”

“Yeah, over there,” Gar pointed. “It’s pretty great, I was using it earlier.”

Bart grinned, wide as he could. “Weeell, in that case, I call dibs!”

“For what?” Jaime asked amusedly. “You really think you can just hog it the whole time?”

“For sleeping tonight, obviously! ‘Cause, really, sleeping on the ground? Not sounding super crash.”

“Dude, the mosquitos will eat you alive,” Gar said. Bart scoffed.

“Easy fix,” he said confidently, zipping to the car and reappearing by the fire with the electric fly swatter. “Gimme three seconds.”

“Oh my god,” Gar said, incredulous grin rising on his face. “You can’t seriously—”

Bart was already gone, doing a few laps around their immediate area while swinging away.

“Ta da!” he said smugly, little sparks of light still trailing in his wake. “Problem solved.”

Gar face-palmed, laughing into his hand. Jaime fixed him with an exasperated look, getting to his feet and getting the bug spray from the picnic table.

“Trust me, ese, you’re still gonna want this,” he said, shaking the can and then spraying the disgusting smelling stuff all over Bart’s arms, legs and neck. Bart coughed.

“Dude, gross,” he complained. “What’s the big deal anyway? Speedy healing, remember? Bug bites go away in like ten minutes for me.”

“Okay, but guess who’s still gonna have to listen to you whine for those ten minutes tomorrow morning?” Jaime said, meeting his eyes with a pointed, if still amused look that sent another little thrill down Bart’s spine. “So, deal with it.”

Bart stuck his tongue out at him but relented.

Turned out Gar was right about how comfortable the hammock was. Loads better than sleeping on the ground, which, really he’d had more than enough of in his own time, thanks. Plus, no chance of accidentally curling up too close to Jaime in his sleep. Or obsessing over _howclosebutnotcloseenough_ Jaime’s arms were. That was an itch he wasn’t allowed to scratch, so, frankly he’d take the mosquitoes any day.

All the same, Bart still couldn’t seem to nod off once they all went to bed, staring up at the trees as they swayed together in unnerving patterns across his vision. All those dark, useless, unwelcome things kept drifting back into his head again, whirring so _loud_ in his mind he couldn’t stand it.

He kept reopening his eyes, checking his phone.

_12:45AM_

_1:17AM_

_2:39AM_

_Ugh_.

His feet started carrying him back to the lake before he even fully registered it. He took a seat, rubbing his eyes.

The water was still, making the clear sky look twice as endless. It made him want to take a boat out or something. To just sit there surrounded by it and feel like he was back up in space.

At least up there, everything looked just as still no matter how fast or slow he was going.

“...Bart?”

Bart startled, half turning as he glanced over his shoulder.

It was too dark to see much beyond Jaime’s silhouette until he’d reached Bart’s side, looking down with curious concern.

“Oh, hey,” Bart said quietly, shooting him half a tired smile.

Jaime lowered himself beside him with a soft grunt, their calves brushing where they dangled off the end of the dock.

“Garfield’s snoring too much for you?” he joked lightly.

Jaime huffed a laugh through his nose. “What do you think I packed earplugs for?” he joked back, propping up one knee and wrapping an arm lightly around it. “Nah, just got up to take a leak.”

“So you came to the _lake_ , Blue? Rude,” Bart said.

“Ha, ha.” Jaime nudged him with his foot.

They sat quietly for a moment, the water lapping against the dock beneath their dangling feet. He could still feel Jaime’s concern. Could tell he was getting ready to ask the obvious.

“The stars are really pretty here,” Bart stalled. “You picked a good camping spot.”

Jaime didn’t answer. Bart’s breath stilled as he felt the reassuring pressure of Jaime’s hand at the nape of his neck, massaging comfortingly for a moment before settling on Bart’s upper arm. Bart’s throat tightened. He couldn’t help giving in just a little to the warm, safe weight of Jaime’s arm around his shoulders, leaning into his side.

“I’m okay, Blue,” he said softly.

“Alright,” Jaime said, giving his arm a light squeeze. “If you _weren’t,_ though—y’know, just for the sake of argument—that’d be okay, too,” he reminded gently. Bart’s lips rose.

“Right. Hypothetically,” he said.

“Right,” Jaime’s lips quirked as well. He circled his other arm around him, coaxing a smile and a flash of heat to rise on Bart’s cheeks as Jaime did his best to squish him.

“ _Jaime_ ,” Bart complained without any real weight behind it, trying to squirm away. Jaime let him go with a smirk, ruffling his hair then straightening his arms out behind himself, palms laid flat on the wooden planks. Bart’s heart panged.

Well, okay, he didn’t have to let go _that_ much.

The crickets chirped all around them, the wind rustling the leaves like an elongated sigh. He could feel Jaime’s gaze on him, even as he kept his own eyes trained on the water.

“Come on, ese, talk to me,” Jaime said kindly. “What’s up?”

Bart fiddled with a loose thread on his shorts, shrugging one shoulder.

“I just…” Bart started finally. “You ever think about how crazy the first moon landing was?”

"Uh," Jaime’s brow rose, nonplussed, “it was a pretty big deal, yeah,” he humored him.

“Right, but I mean, the info they were working with? The _equipment_ they were using?” Bart shook his head. “Even by _your_ standards, all of it’s so retro now that it’s _mind boggling_. It almost feels like it shouldn’t have been possible, y’know? Like they were dumb for even trying because _how_ could it possibly end up successful—” he rambled.

“Bart,” Jaime redirected patiently.

“Sorry.” He took a breath. “I guess, I don’t know, maybe it’s the time of year or whatever, but…sometimes I can’t help feeling the same way about what _I_ did,” he admitted.

The early summer breeze ruffled through their hair. Jaime’s confusion gave way to surprise, then his expression softened.

“I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Bart continued. “About the sc—about Khaji Da, and how much he’s developed. It—I didn’t even know a scarab could _talk_ when I came back here! I had nothing but a handful of history notes and my own experience to go on. The kind of data you have now? The _amount_ of it? Fuck, that kind of intel could have saved countless lives in my time—could have changed the entire way we went about the resistance—and even _with_ all that there’s _still_ so much we don’t know, and it—” he cut himself off, hearing his voice crack. Jaime’s hand settled on his shoulder.

“And it scares you,” Jaime finished quietly for him. Bart fixed his eyes on the water again, refusing to meet Jaime’s eyes to confirm it. “Can I admit something?” Jaime asked. Bart froze slightly, but nodded.

“It was...actually a bad dream that got me up,” Jaime said. “I know what you mean about the time of year thing. I think about it a lot, too. It still messes me up sometimes, thinking about where I was at around this time three years ago. Before you saved me.”

Bart’s heart panged again as he finally turned to meet Jaime’s vulnerable gaze. “I’m sorry, Blue, that blows.”

Jaime shrugged. “Comes with the territory, I guess. Talking to Black Canary helps.”

“So you and everyone else keep telling me, yeah,” Bart sighed. “...Maybe eventually.”

“I know, no pressure,” Jaime said, squeezing his shoulder again. “You know, it was actually Khaji that told me you were down here. He thought you seemed, uh, distressed. Maybe it sounds weird, but I think he worries about you, in his own way.”

“I—Really?” Bart asked, surprised. “I mean, that’s sweet, but I thought he was only designed to care about _your_ well being. As his host and all that.”

“Well, okay, part of it is probably that he knows if _you’re_ feeling the mode, then _I’ll_ end up feeling it too, worrying about you, and he sees it as his job now to keep me in a ‘stable, positive mental and physical state’ or whatever.” Jaime admitted, “But still. He hasn’t even come close to advising me to eliminate you in like, over a year and a half, which for him might as well be a love letter, so.”

Bart huffed a laugh. “Well, tell him thanks, I guess.” They were quiet again for a moment.

“Do you...ever wish you could go back and use what you know now?” Jaime asked tentatively. "I, um, don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a resistance movement before.” Bart choked down a harsh laugh.

“No. Trust me,” he said. Even if he could have gone back equipped with all his new knowledge, there wouldn’t have been enough left to salvage. Not for him. A hard reset had been the only way.

Even with what, and who, it still cost him.

Jaime pulled him back into a comforting hug again, loosening the knot in Bart’s chest. “Is it insensitive, then, to say I’m glad you _were_ crazy enough to do what you did?” he asked softly. “Even with your oh so primitive time machine?”

Bart cracked a more genuine smile, tucking his head into the crook of Jaime’s shoulder. “No.”

“Good. ‘Cause I am glad,” Jaime said, resting his chin on the top of Bart’s head. Bart relaxed into him.

“I mean, you never know, it’s a pretty big multiverse. Maybe someone else could have found a way to get you guys off mode without my help in this timeline,” Bart said reasonably.

“I was thinking more along the lines of how I’d be down a best friend, but okay,” Jaime said with amused exasperation. Bart’s cheeks flared.

He hugged Jaime back, burying his face in Jaime’s neck in embarrassment. Jaime patted his hair.

“Look, I get the struggle of thinking about what-ifs,” Jaime added. “But it’s like Barbara says, right? Do what you can, make your peace with the rest. And you've done _plenty_ , guepardito. ¿’Ta bien?” Bart nodded, hugging him tighter.

“Now, come on. It’s late,” Jaime said, squeezing him one last time before letting go. “We should both get some shut eye.” Bart nodded again, taking Jaime's offered hand and letting him pull him to his feet.

For less than a fraction of a second, Bart nearly didn’t let go. Nearly held harder as Jaime went to drop his grip. Nearly tangled their fingers together instead.

_“—how I’d be down a best friend.”_

_Best friend._

_Best friend._

_Best friend._

He’d never known anything could fill and break his heart so hard at the same time.

With a deep breath he stuffed his fists in his pockets, walking back toward the campsite with Jaime following close behind.

 

+

 

The entirety of Jaime’s college campus seemed determined to use the bus that day.

Jaime tugged his hat tightly over his ears, shivering like crazy, and wondered again why he thought it had been a good idea to go to school in a place where it snowed.

He craned his neck to look down the road. The bus was supposed to come at least five minutes ago, which meant it was rapidly fading from the category of ‘more convenient.’ It was only a fifteen minute walk back to his dorm, after all. Through the snow. That no one else seemed eager to tromp through either.

He sighed.

 _“This waiting is pointless,”_ Khaji Da argued. _“Flying back—”_

 _“Would toss my secret ID out the window,”_ Jaime countered dully for the third time. And besides, he was trying to be better about ‘leaving work at work.’ Having the full, normal, student experience meant dealing with the obnoxious parts too.

An anticipatory shuffle rippled through the group as someone finally spotted the B45 rumbling its way toward them. Jaime scooted to the edge of the curb, only a handful of people exiting as the bus squeaked to a halt, the rest vying for as much breathing room as possible as they piled in. 

Jaime shot a gloved hand up to the overhead bar, packed in behind a pair of petite girls from his Bio 202 lab. The bobble on one of their hats tickled his chin annoyingly no matter how much he attempted to lean away. He sighed again, raising an earbud and ready to zone out, when a shock of auburn hair caught the corner of his eye.

His head turned out of habit, and he was already chastising himself halfway through the motion for being ridiculous except…his heart jolted in surprise.

It _was_ Bart. He was so bundled up in his moss green coat that Jaime could have easily convinced himself he was seeing things, but there was no mistaking the scarf Joan Garrick knitted for him last winter.

Jaime blinked, confused. Had he missed a text or something? He wasn’t expecting a visit until next weekend. He tried to angle himself so that he wouldn’t elbow someone as he tried to fish his phone out of his pocket, but the bus was too packed. 

Bart had tucked himself into a corner, leaning against the wall right behind the bus driver’s seat and staring, unfocused into the middle-distance. He hadn’t noticed Jaime board. He considered trying to signal Bart with his other hand, but...

It was always a peculiar feeling, to see someone he loved simply existing in the world without him. There was a certain magic in the opportunity to observe who Bart was when he thought no one was watching.

Bart’s fingers were tapping aimlessly on his leg. He could never stand still. For once though, his eyes weren’t scanning. Weren’t doing that thing where they constantly zoomed from object to object, blurring slightly when they entered a room, as though assessing it. Always looking to see who was there, how he needed to adjust his smile.

Jaime didn’t think Bart knew that he’d caught on to that. To be fair, Bart hadn’t given him many chances to notice. Only rare moments like this, where he dropped the façade altogether. Its absence, with his gaze turned inward like that, expression open and neutral for once, the only proof it existed in the first place.

The bus rocked and Bart’s phone appeared out of thin air in his hand, like he’d timed it. Everyone was too busy shifting to notice, except Jaime, who rolled his eyes. No matter how much anyone told him off, Bart was reckless, as always, with his speed in public.

Just for an instant, Bart’s brow furrowed at his screen. It was weird to see him look so readily concerned. Jaime thought there was nothing this kid wouldn’t laugh at. In fact, it was weird to see his mood dance across his face so fast in general, all his movements just a shade more erratic than Jaime was used to. It made him wonder just how much Bart slowed down for his benefit.

They pulled up near the campus center, and Jaime breathed a little easier as a large group of students scrambled out through the doors. He still couldn’t sit, but at the very least he—Jaime blinked, staring perplexedly at the spot where Bart had just been standing. He was gone.

So was Jaime’s lanyard.

Jaime straightened, glancing around for a moment before he spotted Bart, now leaning against the wall at the back of the bus with a smug grin on his face. He winked, twirling the stolen lanyard around his hand. Jaime huffed an exasperated laugh, shaking his head.

He shuffled his way back, scooting around Bart’s legs into the cramped space in front of him and crossing his arms, leaning his lower back against the pair of seats behind him.

“Weeell, fancy seeing you here,” Bart grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. Jaime raised an amused eyebrow, uncurling his lanyard from around Bart’s hand.

“Hope you’re not making a habit of sticking your hands in people’s pockets, chiquito,” he chided, sticking the ID back where it belonged. Bart laughed.

“Only yours, promise. Scout’s Honor,” he said, holding up the wrong number of fingers. Jaime smiled to himself with another headshake.

“I thought you weren’t coming ‘til next weekend,” he said. 

Bart shrugged. “Are you busy?”

 _“There are two quizzes and one lab report that require your attention,”_ Khaji piped up.

“Not really,” Jaime said. “You probably can’t stay over though.”

“It’s all crash, I’ve got other stuff to do tomorrow,” Bart smiled, adjusting his scarf. “Can we go to the dining hall?”

“If they’ll let you back in,” Jaime teased, nudging Bart’s knee with his own.

“Pft, please, your school is huge. There’s no way they’d remember—” Bart’s phone pinged. It appeared in his hand again, fingers blurring as he typed out a response.

 _“Dude,”_ Jaime reprimanded, covering Bart’s hand with his own to still him. “Seriously, how many times—”

“Sorry, sorry, normal speed. Gotcha,” Bart said, not seeming remotely apologetic. Jaime sighed.

Whoever was talking to Bart was awfully persistent, his phone continuing to ping every few minutes while Bart shoveled down a second lunch at the dining common and Jaime nibbled at a bagel.

“Someone’s popular today,” Jaime said, nudging him. Bart shrugged, smiling apologetically.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry,” he flipped the switch to turn his phone on vibrate. “I’m listening, I swear.”

“It’s not Team stuff is it?” Jaime asked, pulling out his own phone to double check.

“Nah, nothing like that. Hey, you gonna finish that?” Bart asked, reaching for the half-eaten apple Jaime had grabbed.

“Get your own, gordo,” Jaime teased, smacking his hand away.

“Hey!” Bart laughed. “Speedster metabolism, dude. I couldn’t unchisel these abs if I tried. Besides, apples are healthy!”

Jaime smiled, rolling his eyes. The one benefit of Bart still being mildly awful at picking up on Spanish in context was that half the time when Jaime slipped endearments into conversation Bart was entirely clueless.

He also decided that maybe the cold weather did have some benefits as they walked back from the dining hall up to his dorm, Bart snug against his side so they could actually hear each other through the layers of fabric covering their mouths.

“It was definitely a close call. I made up some excuse to throw her off but…” Jaime petered off, realizing Bart suddenly wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention. “Bart?”

“Hm?” Bart looked up from his screen, distracted.

It stung, a little.

“Olvídalo,” he muttered, opening the door. Bart followed close behind, eyes already glued to his phone again.

“Do you know what movies are playing right now?” Bart asked as they reached the third floor.

“Not really, why?” Jaime answered. Bart shrugged. “We can go later if you want,” Jaime offered. “There are buses that go right to the mall.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Bart grinned, a shade too wide. “I’m crash just hanging out here. I just meant in general.” Jaime looked at him searchingly as he unlocked his door.

“You’re doing that thing you do when you’re up to something,” Jaime noted suspiciously.

Bart raised an eyebrow. “If by up to something, you mean plotting your demise in Super Smash,” he said, darting into Jaime’s dorm room and flicking the TV and Jaime’s old Gamecube to life, “then yes, yes I am.”

“Oh that’s how it is, huh?” Jaime smiled, tossing his hat at him as he followed through the door. Bart caught it with a smirk, tossing his backpack down in a heap with his own discarded jacket and scarf.

“Looks like your roommate is a no-show,” Bart changed the subject.

Jaime shucked off his remaining snowy layers, picking up a sticky note that had been left for him on his desk.

“Oh, right, the hockey game. Yeah, he won’t be back until _late.”_

“Really? Aw, yeah!” Bart whooped tossing his hands in the air. “No having to hide superpowers! So much more crash.”

A rush of air poured over Jaime’s face the moment he sat on his bed, a controller appearing on his lap. “So, ready to get your butt royally kicked by yours truly?” Bart asked with a cocky grin, flopping down next to him.

“As if,” Jaime said, elbowing Bart affectionately as he loaded up the game.

They’d hardly made it through one round before the buzzing started up again.

Jaime side-eyed him curiously. Bart was ignoring it, but Jaime could have sworn his eyes kept blurring for a split second, as if glancing down at superspeed. And he was blushing again. Jaime’s brow furrowed.

“Okay seriously,” Jaime said, reaching across Bart to snatch his phone out of his pocket. “Is Tim sending you those weird videos again or—” Jaime’s voice died out. There were three notifications on Bart’s lockscreen, all from an app Jaime hadn’t heard of, signaling that Bart had unread messages from someone named Luke.

Something curdled unpleasantly in Jaime’s stomach. Bart grabbed the phone back before Jaime could unlock it.

“Heyhey, don’t be grabby,” Bart protested poking a finger into Jaime’s chest to push him back. “Do I ever take _your_ stuff without asking? Or—okay, maybe don’t answer that—”

“Who’s Luke?” Jaime asked defensively before he could help himself.

The feeling in his stomach worsened and turned to nerves as he noticed Bart consider lying.

“Just someone I met online,” Bart said honestly, if not evasively, turning back to the T.V. and flicking around the character selection screen at random, seemingly just to have something to do with his hands.

“Oh,” Jaime said neutrally, torn between curiosity and dread.

A moment of tense silence lasted maybe all of four seconds before—

“OkfineImighthavekindajoinedanonlinedatingappthingforteensinCentralCityanditwaskindofajokebutthensomeoneactuallymessagedmeandnowwe’retalkingandreallyit’sallTim’sfault,” Bart said in a jumbled speedsterfied mess, gesticulating nervously with eyes pinned on Jaime’s face as though he’d already been waiting ages for a response. It was so equally familiar and ridiculous that Jaime couldn’t help but snort.

“Agh, see? This is why I didn’t say anything, I knew you’d laugh,” Bart said miserably, flopping, embarrassed, onto his back with his arms over his face.

“Bart, no, I just—I have literally _no idea_ what you just said,” Jaime explained, still chuckling as he gently lifted Bart’s arms away, hands lingering on Bart’s wrists. “I’m sorry, guepardito. Say it again, just slower.” 

Bart groaned. “Can’t you just have the scarab translate?”

 _“The Bart Allen is engaging in digital courtship,”_ Khaji abbreviated.

Jaime’s stomach jolted, his grip on Bart’s wrists tightening reflexively, childishly, before he caught himself.

 _“This is only expected, Jaime Reyes,”_ Khaji chided. _“Your counterproductive decision to delay has put you at a disadvantage.”_

“I thought dating apps were usually for people over 18,” Jaime said, letting his hands fall back to his own sides.

 _“_ Well, yeah, _real_ ones,” Bart said, sitting back up. “I think this one was developed by and for some high school kids as a programming project. It probably won’t last, but it was trending so Tim got me to download it just for kicks.”

“That’s who you’ve been texting this whole time?” Jaime asked, pointing at the phone. “A kid from the app?”

 _“He cannot speak to this competitor if you incinerate the communication device,”_ Khaji added helpfully.

“Not the whole time,” Bart said, rubbing the back of his neck. “On our way here it was someone else named Ben, but he was kinda creeping me out so I turned him down—”

“You’ve had _two_ people message you already?” Jaime blurted, aghast. Bart frowned, hand stilling.

“Yeah,” Bart answered, embarrassment vanishing. “Is that really so hard to believe?” he asked tersely.

“What, no. I just—” Jaime backpedaled. “Who’s the other one then? The not creepy one?”

Bart shrugged, picking at his sleeve. “That’s Luke. He goes to school in the western part of the city.”

“Is he a junior, too?” Jaime asked.

“Nah, senior. Can’t drive though, doesn’t really see the point. Urban living and all that,” Bart answered evenly.

“Oh. That’s...cool I guess,” Jaime said lamely.

“Yep,” Bart said, popping the ‘P’ sound as he got up off the bed to shove his phone into the bottom of his backpack.

Jaime probably should have let Bart drop it but—

“How long have you been talking with him?” he prodded.

“Only like a week-ish.” Bart huffed a small laugh. “Ironically, he’s not really a Flash fan.”

Some of the pressure in Jaime’s chest dissipated into relief. “Oh, well that’s kind of a deal-breaker then, isn’t it?”

“Eh, no one can resist the classic Allen charm forever,” Bart said with a wry smirk. “I’m sure I could convert him.” Jaime didn’t doubt it.

“So...you like him then?” Jaime asked, fiddling with his controller.

“He’s nice,” Bart hedged, sitting back down and picking up his controller as well. “You can start the next round, I’m going with Kirby again.”

Jaime tried to ignore the whirlwind in his head. “There’s a surprise,” he responded, a beat too late.

 _“Jaime Reyes,”_ Khaji clacked impatiently, _“This Luke has become a threat. We must—”_

 _“I’m not going to obliterate him,”_ Jaime thought irritably. Though for once he almost agreed with the sentiment.

 _“The Luke’s location is an unknown factor,”_ Khaji dismissed. _“The proper countermeasure is to actively pursue the target as well.”_ Jaime felt his neck go hot.

_“Target? Really, ese? That’s the term you’re going with?”_

_“The Bart Allen is already partial to you and therefore statistically more likely to choose you.”_

_“You know why I shouldn’t do that. How many times do we have to have this argument?”_

_“It is illogical to act counter to your desire,”_ Khaji argued stubbornly, confused. _“Ceasing the desire or pursuing a solution are the only logical courses of action. Inaction results in unproductive suffering.”_

 _“Hermano, if you wanna cut down my ‘unproductive suffering’ then maybe_ you _should practice a little inaction once in a while,”_ Jaime sighed inwardly. _“Emotions just aren’t logical, okay? I know that’s a concept you still struggle with, and I get it, but seriously. Dejalo_ _.”_

As much as it irked him to admit it, the scarab was right that he couldn’t complain. He’d made the choice not to tell Bart how he felt. It was just...Bart was _sixteen._  Seventeen next month, granted, but still. Jaime would be twenty in April. Three years difference didn’t sound like a big deal in college, but in high school? Jaime could still remember how much people talked if a senior was dating a freshman. It was _weird_ , and he’d thought as much himself. Sure, it wasn’t _exactly_ the same in their case, but still. He didn’t want to put Bart in that position. Didn’t mind just enjoying their best friendship for what it was and leaving it at that for now. So Bart was talking to someone else, so what? How many people stayed in serious relationships that started when they were juniors in high school?

Well...besides Artemis and Wally, he supposed. They’d met as sophomores. Or Bumblebee and Guardian, who might have been even younger than that, actually...

Jaime suddenly found his character flying off the screen.

“Shit,” Jaime swore as he tried vainly to save himself, already on his last life. With a zap, his life counter shot down to a resounding zero.

“Ha! Told ya,” Bart crowed triumphantly. “Seriously, Blue, were you even trying? That was easy even for me.”

“Sorry, Khaji was distracting me,” Jaime said, embarrassed. Bart smirked.

“Oh _sure,_ the old ‘alien tech talking in my head’ excuse again. How convenient,” Bart teased, leaning in far too close with his big, smug, grin. Jaime rolled his eyes, covering Bart’s face with one hand to shove it away in the other direction.

“Whatever, chiquito. Enjoy the victory while it lasts, ‘cause your ass is getting dunked on next round.”

“Huh,” Bart said, biting his cheek contemplatively. “You know, it really didn’t occur to me until right now that Kirby, like, _has no butt_. Wait, are his face and body all the same thing? Is he _just_ a face? And when he sucks stuff up, does it go in a stomach, or just a GIANT mouth?” Bart rambled, stretching his arms wide to demonstrate. “Retro gaming characters are weird, dude.”

“I don’t know, all mouth and no butt doesn’t sound that unrealistic,” Jaime said reasonably. “Basically just describes you, don’t you think?”

 _“Wow,_ owch,” Bart laughed, clutching dramatically at his chest as though Jaime had stabbed him. “What the hell, dude? Why you gotta put me on mode like that? I thought we were best friends!”

“There is no friendship in Super Smash, young grasshopper,” Jaime said sagely, hiding his own grin behind a mock-serious expression. “Only nemeses and glory.”

“Unbelievable. After _all_ we’ve been through,” Bart shook his head dramatically, scooting right up to Jaime’s side and challengingly holding his controller up with a flourish. “Well, I hate to do this to you, Blue, but the gloves? They’re coming off. Prepare to be annihilated.”

“Aw, Khaji would be so proud,” Jaime teased, lips quirking as he nudged the back of Bart’s bony shoulder with his own. Bart scoffed, elbow crossing over Jaime’s. It made it awkward for Jaime to maneuver his controller with their arms so layered over one another, but he didn’t pull away.

“Oh, crud,” Bart exclaimed, stiffening as his eyes landed on Jaime’s alarm clock. He was gone from Jaime’s side in an instant, digging his phone back out of his bag. “I was supposed to text Joan as soon as I got here. She’s so gonna kill me,” he groaned. Jaime flinched, the lack of Bart’s warmth a sudden loss.

“Oh,” Bart’s eyes widened slightly the moment he unlocked his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime asked, suddenly serious.

“Nothing, sorry. It’s just Luke again,” Bart reassured. Jaime’s good mood deflated.

“Oh,” he managed to get out. “What’d he say?”

“He wants to get dinner this Friday,” Bart answered neutrally, eyes flicking up to Jaime’s face.

Jaime swallowed. “Wow, are you gonna need to start fending these dudes off with a stick or what?” he joked lamely, attempting a smile. Bart gave an embarrassed little chuckle.

“What can I say? It’s tough being this adorable,” he joked with forced bravado, glancing back down at his phone. “I don’t know, though. I didn’t mean to actually get a date from this thing.”

Jaime shrugged. “It’s not like you have to say yes,” he said reasonably. Bart went oddly still at that.

“...Do you think I shouldn’t?” Bart asked, looking intently at him.

Yes.

“I mean, I could look into whether he’s legit, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jaime shrugged again, training his eyes back on the TV.

“Dude, I’m a superhero,” Bart said dryly. “I’m not asking if you think he’s _fishing_ me.”

“Catfishing,” Jaime corrected.

The lack of Bart’s usual motion somehow made the room feel stifling.

 _“Blue,”_ Bart huffed.

“What?” Jaime answered.

“Come on, do you think I should go or not?”

“I don’t know, ese, you said you like him right? So why not.”

“I said he was _nice,_ ” Bart corrected.

“Okay,” Jaime said.

The silence hung uncomfortably between them, sending Jaime’s stomach into knots.

“Jaime,” Bart said exasperatedly. Jaime flinched, his traitorous eyes finally flicking up to meet Bart’s. His throat went dry.

It wasn’t typical to be on the receiving end of Bart’s full and unwavering attention, especially for minutes at a time. It made his stare all the more intimidatingly intense, fixing Jaime in place.

“Do you want me to go," Bart asked slowly. Deliberately. "or no?”

Jaime froze as it suddenly clicked what Bart was really asking.

Oh, god. He _knew._

Jaime’s stomach bottomed out, a frantic mantra of _escape, escape, escape_ resounding loudly in his ears. It took a moment to realize it wasn’t even Khaji, but his own brain. His hands started to feel slick.  _“Just say yes,”_ he berated himself. _“Literally all you have to say is yes and this moment can be over.”_

 _"Right along with your chances,"_ the stubborn part of him argued back.

“I mean, you—it’s not like—like you’re seeing anyone else,” Jaime stuttered out flusteredly. Bart looked flatly at him like Jaime was the biggest idiot on the planet. Which, he thought, might not be far from the truth.

“Jaime,” Bart repeated tiredly, far too serious. Jaime shoved his fists into his lap to keep them from shaking. Bart waited, silent for far longer than Jaime thought possible for him. Jaime sighed.

“What do you want me to say, guepardito?” he asked gently. “Sounds like you already know what I think.”

“Do I, though?” Bart asked, voice sounding raw, almost scared, in a way Jaime had never heard it before. The knot in his stomach twisted.

“If I told you not to go, it’d just be selfish,” Jaime managed, so quietly he wasn’t sure Bart could hear him.

Bart froze entirely.

“Why?” he asked, voice suddenly much smaller.

“You’re sixteen, Bart. I’m in college.”

“I’m aware. So?” There was hurt surfacing in Bart’s eyes now. The words felt stuck in his throat.

“So you should have the chance to date people that are still in high school, like you,” Jaime managed.

Frustrated, Bart blurted, “Why would I care about dating anyone else if I could be dating you?”

Oh.

A warm thrill raced through Jaime’s heart, heat blooming over his cheeks. Bart's eyes went wide the second the words left his mouth.

“Well for one, the Garricks probably wouldn’t let you stay over here anymore,” Jaime pointed out with a shy smile. “Wouldn’t trust us to be unsupervised and all that.”

“Uh,” Bart said eloquently, clearly still in panic mode. Jaime laughed, a mix of mortified and relieved.

“Just come here,” Jaime beckoned, reaching out his arm. Bart sat tentatively beside him again, his ears cherry red.

“Look, it’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Jaime said, lightly squeezing Bart's hand. “I’m too busy with school and the Team to date anyone that goes here anyway. Year and a half down the line, if you would still rather be with me, then we can talk about it after you graduate.”

Bart’s gaze flicked to his, brows tilted in confusion, and it dawned on Jaime that the overly serious look fixed on Bart’s face again just seemed to be what happened naturally any time that Bart’s guard dropped.

“Well that makes zero sense. Why would you want us to waste all that time if you’re just going to wait for me anyway?” Bart asked, perplexed. Jaime fidgeted.

“It’s not really that simple—”

“Well yeah, our _lives_ aren’t simple, Blue,” Bart argued. “I’m a speedster from a, now alternate, post-apocalyptic future and you’ve got an advanced alien AI fused to your spine.”

“No kidding, but—”

“But nothing,” Bart said fiercely, twining their fingers together. “I—I don’t _want_ to be with someone else.”

“Other people care, ese,” Jaime tried to explain.

“Screw other people,” Bart insisted.

“No, I meant like, legally care—”

“We are _literally_ vigilantes,” Bart said flatly.

“Bart,” Jaime sighed. “It’s not like I don’t _want_ to be with you. I’m just saying, being almost three years apart at our age is kind of—”

“Yeah, sorry, brain stopped on ‘want to be with you.’" Bart surged forward, lips colliding into his.

He nearly knocked Jaime over, the kiss a determined smack of heat and electricity that sent Jaime's heart thundering wildly in his chest. Bart was _bruising_. Clumsy and try-hard. All pressure with no finesse.

It should not have been the kind of kiss that could melt him instantly, but, god help him, it did.

His free hand settled on the back of Bart’s neck with palpable relief as he let Bart keep trying to find his footing, sure as hell not eager to _stop_ his apparent attempt to literally fuse their mouths together. He couldn’t help drawing the line, though, as Bart’s shifting roughly clacked their teeth together, jarring Jaime right out of the moment. He huffed a laugh, pulling back slightly and thumbing Bart’s jaw.

“ _Gentle_ , guepardito,” he chided against Bart’s mouth, indulging in the way Bart’s breath hitched. Bart wet his lips, looking halfway terrified.

“Um,” he murmured nervously. “Right, so, in hindsight, I’m realizing I probably should have asked fi—mm.” Jaime cut him off succinctly, slotting their lips back together.

He kissed him slower, more purposefully, letting the heat of their breaths mingle as he eased Bart’s mouth open, licking in gently to trace Bart’s tongue. Bart made a small, pleased sound in the back of his throat, all the tension leaving his shoulders as he tilted his head to give Jaime better access, letting Jaime lead him.

 _God_. Kissing Bart was like tasting lightning. As exhilarating as the first time he ever took flight. The current zipping all the way down his spine left him slightly breathless, Bart’s fingers still so tightly wound with his it nearly _hurt._  Shivering as he felt Bart’s free hand come to rest lightly on his knee, he buried his fingers deeper into Bart’s soft hair and drew him in closer, wanting to memorize every curve of his mouth.

With a little surge of satisfaction, it occurred to Jaime that maybe Bart had been fumbling before because it was his first kiss. That he’d chosen Jaime for that.

In a way, it was a first for Jaime, too. There had been a couple of girls, one in high school, a few in college, but...never any boys. Only almosts, his freshman year. One had given Jaime his number, but Jaime never followed up. It hadn’t felt fair to, once he’d realized two days had passed before he’d even remembered that he had it, too busy video chatting with a very different boy, with a similar charisma, that had already made himself at home inside a sizable chunk of Jaime’s heart.

When they finally broke apart Bart looked dazed, staring at Jaime like he was some kind of miracle. Jaime smiled back, carding his fingers through Bart’s hair again, just above his ear.

“So. Hi,” Jaime murmured. Bart ducked his head with a light laugh, expression heart-stoppingly sweet.

“Hey,” he answered shyly.

“You’re going to be stubborn about this no matter what I say, aren’t you?” Jaime said resignedly, fighting down a smile.

“Mm, see, it looks like you’re talking,” Bart said, shifting closer, “but talking would mean stopping, which is not crash, so,” Bart kissed him again, cutting off Jaime’s exasperated laugh.

Jaime scooped Bart into his lap, basking in the pleasant warmth of him, and decided he could live with finishing their conversation later.

 

 

+

 

 

Bart hadn’t _meant_ to mope around Barry and Iris’ house all afternoon.

He’d wanted to see the twins. To keep himself busy running after them so he'd stop overanalyzing his last conversation (did kissing count as conversation?) with Jaime on loop for the rest of forever until he died. Iris always appreciated an extra pair of super speedy hands anyway, ever since they started becoming actual, mobile humans.

Apparently, though, moping was exactly what Iris thought he was doing, based on the arc of her brow as she leaned her hip on the doorway.

“What?” Bart asked, lying on the couch with Don on his stomach as the three year old stared, fixated, at the kid-friendly video about space playing on Bart’s phone.

“I could hear you sighing from three rooms away, bud,” Iris said.

“Hey, speedsters need big lungs,” Bart shrugged, trying for a smile.

She wasn’t having it.

Lifting off the door frame, she circled the couch, scooting Bart’s knees back to make room and letting out a tired ‘oof’ as she flopped down next to him. Always one to have Bart’s back, Don tried to scoot away from him towards her, letting out a delighted squeal every time Bart snatched him back at the last second, but Iris West-Allen was not a woman so easily distracted.

“Bart, honey, I’m an investigative journalist, not a mind reader,” Iris chastised good naturedly, leaning an elbow on the back of the couch as she surveyed him. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, Iris,” Bart said placatingly. Her skepticism magnified immediately.

“Well now I _know_ that’s bullsh—oot,” she caught herself. Bart still gasped, scandalized, pressing his hands over Don’s ears.

“ _Gram_ ,” he scolded, shaking his head.

She pointed like she’d caught him red handed. “You only call me Iris when you want something,” she said, plucking Don from his hands and nudging him to go play with his sister. “Not gonna work this time, dude. Spill.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bart tipped his head back with a groan. “Just, _please_ skip the lecture?”

“Oh, good,” Iris said with a flicker of a smile. “Great start already. No promises, but go on.”

Bart swallowed, nerves twisting through his stomach as he considered how much to tell her.

Some advice would be nice, frankly. Not to mention an easy excuse to let himself be comforted without having to actually ask for it. On the other hand, the idea of telling his _grandma_ he’d made out with his best friend was about a twelve out of ten on the mortification scale.

 _...Ughthekissingwassocrash!_ Why'd all the words after have to ruin it? He _really_ wasn’t sure what to do, and it was _Iris_. He trusted her with everything.

"I...dropped by Jaime’s for the afternoon the other day,” he admitted. “Just for a few hours! I didn’t stay. My homework’s done, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Okay,” Iris said curiously.

“And, I, um. Sort of…” he ran a hand through his hair flusteredly, already feeling the heat crawl up his face. Iris’ brows raised all the higher, suddenly looking _far_ less amused.

“Bartholomew Henry Allen,” her voice rose, “You did _not_ hook up with a _college boy_ last week!” she said, mildly furious.

“I— _What?_ ” he spluttered, waving his hands frantically, nearly choking on his own embarrassment. “Gramohmygodno! We just _kissed!_ ” Iris brought a hand to her chest in relief.

“Oh. Well, Christ, don’t scare me like that. I mean has anyone even _given_ you that talk?”

“ _Gram!”_ Bart covered his face with his hands, certain he’d already turned an obscene shade of red.

“What? It’s a valid question!” she said. He groaned, waiting for death to free him from the horror of a conversation he’d just brought upon himself.

“Yes. I’m almost _seventeen_ and I have an internet connection, I know how it works,” he said, muffled into his palms. “ _So_ not relevant right now, promise.”

“Well, good, I was about to kill him,” she said. “Not that I don’t love Jaime, but still. Don’t you think he’s a little bit old for you?”

Bart let his hands flop out to the sides again, sighing exasperatedly up at the ceiling. “What is it about retro relationships and numbers? He’s not _that_ old.”

“Old enough to be considered a legal adult, unlike a certain someone,” she said, poking his knee.

Bart rolled his eyes, defensiveness flaring in his chest. “So literally trusting him with my _life_ when we’re dealing with metahumans, bullets, and whatever other danger we get into is fine, but _dating_ is the thing that’s too crazy? _That’s_ where you draw the line?” he snapped dryly.

“I mean, that part isn’t fine either,” she said. “But not because of anything to do with Jaime. You really think after losing Wally that I still _want_ you out there?”

Bart’s face fell. He lifted his head to meet her unapologetic gaze, guilt flaring in the pit of his stomach.

“If I could drag you away from being KF right now without you kicking and screaming, I would do it in a heartbeat,” she said bluntly. “I tolerate that choice, only because I know that if I tried to stop you, I’d lose you anyway.”

Bart’s throat tightened. She’d...never told him that before.

He scooted close to hug her, tucking his head under her chin. Her arms settled around him in a comforting embrace.

“Hypocritical or not, is it really so wrong for me to want a little normalcy for the civilian side of your life?” she asked him quietly, rubbing his back. He shook his head. 

She sighed. “Look, I know it’s hard, navigating all this. Trust me, I’ve been there, too,” she said understandingly. “Everything can feel so heightened when you’re seventeen and desperate for the world to take you seriously. I’m not trying to sound pedantic. I _do_ trust you to have a good head on your shoulders. But, being in love can make us all a little stupid sometimes.”

She leaned back enough to cup his chin.

“You’re just not in the same phase of your life as Jaime right now, and it would concern me to think of you jumping into that environment before you really, developmentally, should be. As someone who made that same mistake myself back in the day, long before I met Barry, trust me when I say that hindsight can really, _really,_ screw you up sometimes. I _wish_ I’d listened to everyone telling me that no grown man should be pursuing a high school kid,” she said, gentle but serious. Vulnerable.

Bart swallowed around the ache that had extended all the way down to the center of his chest. “Well, Jaime said no anyway,” he murmured. “Or ‘not now’ as he put it. Brought up the age thing as the main reason, so. Guess he agrees with you.”

“Oh,” she said sympathetically. “I see. So, you went for it and he stopped you?”

“More or less,” Bart said, looking away as he felt a blush rise up on his cheeks again. “He did say he felt the same, but that he purposely didn’t bring it up to me before because he didn’t think it was the ‘right time’ right now. I guess he thinks we should wait and just keep doing our thing as best friends in the meantime, but…it sucks, you know? It hurts,” he admitted.

“I know,” she said, stroking his hair. “...Want me to still kill him, then, for turning you down?”

Bart laughed, a small seed of relief taking root as her lips curled up into a teasing smile.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” he said.

She pulled him back in for a tight hug. “Listen, I know this will probably fall on deaf ears as a speedster, but, is waiting really the worst idea? After all, what’s the rush? You have time.”

Bart hugged her back, trying to find a way to explain how utterly foreign that whole concept truly was to him.

“Gram, when I'm from there was never any guarantee you’d see the next day,” he said finally. “No one was concerned with planning that far ahead, you know? If you loved somebody, you did something about it. I’d  _already_ put off telling Jaime how I felt for a long time, only because I kept convincing myself that there was no _way_ he liked me back,” he admitted. “But now I know I was wrong about that, so it doesn’t make sense to me why I have to wait for some arbitrary time. Like, I don’t see how a clock hitting midnight on some random day in February is going to suddenly going to make me more trustworthy in the dating department.”

“It won’t,” Iris said. “But, a year is a lot of time to grow and change, especially at your age. I think you might surprise yourself. And besides—don’t take this the wrong way, but, Jaime is one of the first people to show you this kind of positive, romantic attention. Am I right?”

“I...guess?” Bart said, unsure where she was going with that.

“Well, let’s be real. It feels _nice_ to be liked that way,” Iris said, rubbing his arm. “Jaime is a good boy. I know that. But, sometimes, that attention by itself is the thing that draws us to people, regardless of whether that person is a good fit. So, it might not be the worst idea to really take some time to figure out whether it really is _Jaime_ that you’re so into, or just the experience of having _someone_ like you romantically for the first time. Does that make sense?”

He sighed inwardly.

Bart knew Iris loved him. That she just wanted the best for him. To that extent, he could understand her wanting him to be so cautious. What he didn’t get was why she or Jaime, who normally had the _most_ trust in him, just suddenly flat out wouldn’t about this. Why assume he didn’t know what he wanted and felt ready for? Sure, it _could_ end up being a mistake. If it was, then, whatever. That was that. But how was he supposed to find out if they wouldn’t even let him try it out in the first place? Like, for fuck’s sake, everyone else seemed to be allowed to be stupid about dating and it wasn’t like he was trying to _marry_ the guy.

...Yet.

Trying to act normal around Jaime now, knowing what he knew, had been making every casual touch feel like being freaking branded, and every conversation stuffy with a tension that was never there before, thick enough to choke him. It made no sense and it wasn’t _fair_.

“I guess. But if in a year-ish my feelings are exactly the same?” he asked. “What then?”

“Then I’ll trust you to make that choice for yourself, and be there to support you either way,” she promised. “Okay?”

He settled against her, letting himself indulge a little as she started stroking his hair comfortingly again, then took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

 

+

 

Jaime didn’t get drunk often. Partially because of the paranoia that came with living a superhero lifestyle, but mostly because hangovers were awful enough without an annoying as hell AI pestering him about every single way the decisions he’d made the night before were making him miserable the next morning. There were only so many twenty-first birthday parties he could excuse himself from early, though, before his college friends started to read him the riot act, threatening to tie him down until 2AM just to force him to have a proper night of debauchery for once.

“Hey, Jaime, do you have any snacks you don’t mind parting with? I’m starved again already,” Traci called from the bathroom, still doing her hair.

Why Traci had insisted they pregame at _his_ place, considering _she_ had brought all the sketchily acquired liquor with her anyway, he’d never know. As it stood, they were already far enough along for Natasha to get just a little loud and for Jaime to start paying a little less attention to which language he was speaking in.

“Sí, mira allí. In the mini fridge,” Jaime answered, gesturing vaguely as he scrolled through his phone. Natasha crossed in front of him, squatting down to inspect the fridge’s contents.

“Shit, Reyes, you got enough bags of chicken whizzees in here?” she asked amusedly.

Jaime stilled.

_“Yeah, late night snack sounds crash—hey Gar, wanna come, too?”_

_“I’m spending the weekend with Artemis, actually. See you for training on Monday though!”_

_“Sorry, Blue, I promised Gram I’d babysit all week. I’m down for Team movie night this weekend though!”_

“Jaime?” Natasha prompted.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “Help yourself.”

The music at the birthday boy’s house was toeing the line between ‘just loud enough to tell there’s a party’ and ‘someone’s going to call the cops with a noise complaint’ when they arrived. It smelled like someone had already broken out the fire pit to combat the freezing January air. People were laughing outside in the backyard.

“Reyes!” A voice shouted as soon as he entered the kitchen, no less than the man of the hour himself. His name was Trey, his smile was a mile wide, and he was already visibly plastered, flanked by two other friends with red cups in hand. “Bro, you came _all the way out_ _of your room_ for my birthday? I’m _honored_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaime grinned, smacking Trey’s raised palm and returning the offered hug as Trey swayed on the spot. “Take it in ‘cause my presence is your present, guapo. You don’t get shit else from me.” 

Trey laughed, exuberant and loose. “Aw, listen to this fuckin’ smooth talker. Y’all ever met my boy Jaime before? This dude’s the real shit, man. Ride or fucking _die_ kinda guy, know what I’m saying? Damn. Love you, man, so glad you could make it. Yo, get him a drink! Where the hell’s your better halves?”

“That’s better two thirds if we’re getting technical, tonto,” Jaime teased. “And they’re still outside chatting I think.”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Trey laughed again. “See, this is why you’re gonna be the kickass doctor while I’m drawing fucking furry porn on commission to pay the bills.” Jaime burst out laughing.

“Whatever, ese. Your art’s gonna be on the walls of the M.O.M.A ten years before I pay off my loans, just you wait,” he said, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

Trey brought a hand to his heart. “See what I mean? This dude, I swear. Yo, where’s Legs? You have to leave him with a babysitter or something?”

Jaime’s smile faltered, sticking weirdly on his face. “Ha, yeah. Something like that,” he said weakly. “He’s, uh, not big on crowds anyway.”

“That’s too bad, kid’s a real riot. Probably for the best though. I didn’t let my little brother come tonight, either. Didn’t wanna be worrying about him all night, you know?”

“Right. Yeah,” Jaime tugged at his shirt. The amount of alcohol in his system was suddenly, decidedly, not enough. “Listen, enjoy your party, alright? I’m gonna go say hi to everyone else.”

There was a decent crowd of other people, only around half of which he already knew. It should have been more than enough distraction. At some point, though, he bumped shoulders with a cute girl whose eyes weren’t quite the right shade of green, and then the stoners on the couch started debating with a drunk philosophy major about love and, _merida,_ he needed another drink.

A muddled and distorted-sounding Khaji Da seemed to be of the _staunch_ opinion that adding five more to his tally was not going to make him feel better, but what did he know?

To be fair, though, he probably _should_ have listened when Khaji bugged him at the door. He wasn’t sure exactly at what point he’d left, but it was definitely still the middle of the night, he’d definitely left his coat at the party, and he was definitely back in his room sooner than he’d promised, lying haphazardly on his bed.

Bart picked up on the first ring.

“Blue?” Bart sounded concerned. Jaime couldn't have that.

“Hey,” he answered, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

“Thought you were busy tonight,” Bart said, still skeptical. “You okay?”

He swore there was a clever response in his head.

“Mhm,” is what came out instead, his tongue feeling far too heavy all of a sudden.

“Alright,” Bart said carefully. “Whatcha need then?”

“Nada,” Jaime managed, the words coming of their own volition as the ceiling spun slowly. “The party was kinda whack,” he heard himself say.

“Oh? How come?” Bart asked.

“Dunno, just. Lotta people talkin’ so loud but not really saying anything, you know? Won a round of beer pong though, you shoulda seen my trick shots.”

Bart chuckled. “I have no idea what that is, but I'm sure you were crash.”

“It’s a game. I'd show you sometime, but then you'd probably beat me, so.”

Bart laughed again. Jaime’s eyes fell half-closed, letting the familiar sound tug something loose in his chest.

“Hey, Bart?” Jaime asked quietly.

“Mm?” Bart answered.

“Are we okay?”

Bart was quiet for a moment. Jaime's gut twisted. The room lurched.

“‘Course we are,” Bart said finally, voice gentle.

Jaime breathed, relieved. “Okay. ‘Cause I wanna be. Okay, I mean. I miss you.”

He wasn't sure if it was Bart's breath or his own that caught. He hadn't really meant to say it, even though it was true.

“Me too, Jaime,” Bart said quietly.

Jaime let the silence settle comfortably, taking in the sound of Bart's steady breathing on the other end of the line. It was familiar in a nice way, existing in that space together. It had been awhile. The longer Jaime listened though, the more the ache in his chest began to grow. He wanted to _see_ that steady rise and fall of Bart's chest. To watch Bart's brain whirring just behind the deep green of his eyes, always running a mile a minute and so often fixated on him.

“You wanna come over and watch a movie or something?”

“Jaime, it's like 1:45,” Bart said, amused.

“Oh.” Jaime sounded far more let down than he meant to.

Bart huffed a laugh. “Aw, what the hell. Tomorrow's a Saturday. Sure.”

“Really?” Jaime asked hopefully.

“Yeah. I'll be there in a flash,” Bart teased. Jaime groaned.

“Forget it, I take it back.”

“Too late,” Bart sang. A soft knock sounded at his door. Jaime lifted his head.

He fumbled to hang up his cell, weaving over to the door and pulling it open. His chest swelled as Bart's face greeted him.

“Hey,” Jaime said quietly with a small smile.

“Hi,” Bart smiled back.

It was still a bit of an adjustment, not needing to look down to look Bart in the eye.

He stood aside to let him through, and it wasn’t lost on him that as soon as Bart took off his hat and coat, he scooted straight over to Jaime’s desk chair instead of flopping on the bed.

“So, what’d you want to watch?” Bart asked, folding his arms behind his head and jutting his legs out seemingly halfway across the room.

Jesus, no wonder Trey gave him that nickname. Bart had always been a mess of long limbs, but he’d finally grown into them over the past year. He was lean, now, rather than scrawny. Toned, and looking more like an olympic runner each day. 

Jaime glanced at him for a moment from the doorway, brain still trying to catch up to the question. He shrugged, making his way back to the edge of his bed and none too gracefully hopping back up onto it, the room still vaguely spinny. Bart’s brow arched, lips twitching.

“Little off balance, Blue?”

“Shut up,” Jaime nudged Bart’s knee with his foot. Bart grinned. “Pick whatever, I don’t care.”

“‘Kay,” Bart shrugged. He spun in the chair, bringing up Flixnet on Jaime’s TV and scrolling through with a contemplative hum. Jaime watched him, smiling internally at how quickly Bart’s eyes scanned over the available titles, flicking through them at an alarming rate.

“Easier to watch from here, you know,” Jaime blurted before he could think better of it.

Bart’s hand twitched.

He settled on something, then glanced back at Jaime, his gaze a little too pointedly expressionless. He shrugged again, tossing Jaime the remote and sitting next to him. Jaime caught it, barely, shooting Bart a look across the small distance as Bart smirked at him. With concentrated effort, he tamped down the urge to slide closer, the inches of empty air between Bart’s hip and his own a canyon, mocking him. Instead, he settled back against the wall and hit play.

Jaime trained his eyes on the TV, but felt them glaze over in short order, mind wandering to Bart’s too-tightly crossed arms and bouncing ankle. The ache in his chest reared its head with a vengeance.

“Not gonna lie, that bad guy’s scowl kinda looks like Tim when he hasn’t had his coffee yet,” Jaime said, a few minutes in, leaning over slightly to whisper. Bart snorted, his arms loosening.

“Holy shit, it does,” Bart said, still laughing as he reached for his phone. “Go back and pause it, I’ve gotta chatsnap him that.”

Jaime smiled.

It was hard to keep track of time with his brain still feeling so floaty, but it seemed as though Bart eased far more quickly after that, glancing down at his phone every so often as he, presumably, fired messages back and forth to Tim. No surprise there, Robin was rarely asleep, like, _ever_.

His heart leapt as Bart suddenly scooched in close to him, nudging Jaime as he held his phone up, chatsnap open to the front facing camera, tracking their grainy faces in the dark. Jaime stuck his tongue out. Bart leaned close to make a goofy face beside him.

Jaime shook his head as Bart broke down into giggles at whatever response he got, tucking an arm around Bart’s waist and resting his chin on Bart’s shoulder as he peered at Bart’s screen curiously.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, low and teasing.

Bart’s breath caught almost imperceptibly, pulse thrumming by Jaime’s cheek.

“You,” Bart teased back, nestling further into Jaime’s side. Bart’s warmth settled behind Jaime’s sternum like the feeling of home, simultaneously soothing that deep ache and prodding something else awake, low in his abdomen.

“Oh?” Jaime’s lips quirked, raising a brow as he lifted his chin, leaning back just far enough to look at him.

“Mhm.” Bart inclined his head hesitantly in Jaime’s direction, his cheek nearly brushing Jaime’s nose.

Jaime jumped slightly as he felt Bart’s hand lightly cover his. He hadn’t actually registered splaying his palm over Bart’s stomach. When he glanced back up, Bart held his gaze relentlessly. Jaime’s heart jumped to his throat.

Bart made no effort to cover up the obvious longing that had floated to the surface of those deep green eyes. If anything, his stare was challenging, daring Jaime to deny him as he adjusted ever so slightly in Jaime’s embrace to better face him, their noses brushing together.

Jaime couldn’t look away from him if he tried, so instead he rested his forehead lightly against Bart’s so that he wouldn’t be able to look so directly, letting Bart twine their fingers together.

Bart tilted his head, his warm breath quick and irregular as his lips hovered tentatively just over Jaime’s. Something was nagging at the far corner of Jaime’s brain, but he couldn’t remember why he should care, too caught up in how easy it was to close the last millimeters of that distance, indulging in the warm softness of Bart's lips as he sealed their mouths firmly together.

Bart choked out a small whine, kissing Jaime back once, twice, then continually, desperately, as he swung his hips around to straddle Jaime’s thighs. His weight in Jaime’s lap was like an instant high, Bart’s slender back arching as Jaime slid a hand up to the nape of Bart’s neck, wrapping the other more firmly around Bart’s hips to pull him closer. Bart gasped into Jaime’s mouth, hands scratching through the fuzz of Jaime’s fade as he cradled Jaime’s head. Jaime swiped his tongue past Bart’s equally eager, parted lips, swallowing Bart’s groan as he rolled them bodily to the side.

Jaime settled his weight carefully on Bart as he pressed him into the mattress, Bart’s thighs instantly wrapping around his waist. He nosed into the soft skin of Bart’s neck, finding his fluttering pulse with his lips, and sucked the skin lightly between his teeth. _God_ , he smelled so good. Bart panted beneath him, hands anchoring more firmly in Jaime’s hair as Jaime mapped the built muscles of Bart’s shoulders with his fingertips. Glided his palms around to Bart’s sides. Dragged down slow. Bart quivered, his whole body humming, blurring slightly at the edges and sending tingles over Jaime’s skin everywhere they touched.

“ _Please_ ,” Bart gasped. “Please, Jaime, please, _pleaseplease_ ,” he whispered hoarsely, begging and babbling at superspeed as Jaime’s hands gripped hard at his waist, lips pressed just under Bart’s ear. Jaime sighed, starting to lose all distinction of whether the heat spreading through him like wildfire was coming from Bart’s furnace-like body heat or from the sparks igniting low inside him.

Then Bart’s hips canted upwards, dragging them together, and the near literal jolt ripped Jaime out of his haze like a boom of thunder in the dead of night.

Oh. Oh, _shit_.

He wrenched himself a few inches back, hovering above Bart and breathing heavily as his heart hammered in his ears.

Bart’s chest was heaving just as hard, his hair mussed, face flushed, and eyes glazed over with want, stretched out below him like some sort of sculpted, young god.

But he wasn’t.

Bart was a _boy_. A _seventeen year old kid_. And Jaime was tipsy as hell and out of his mind and holy fuck what was he _doing_?

Guilt squirmed through Jaime like poison. This was wrong. This was _wrong_. He was too drunk for this, and he’d _promised._ It wasn't supposed to go like this. This was happening all out of order.

Jaime swallowed hard, then took a steadying breath, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Bart’s.

Merida, Bart was going to hate him for doing this again, but Jaime was just going to have to make his peace with that.

“Jaime?” Bart murmured, framing Jaime’s jaw with his palms. Jaime reopened his eyes, noting the confusion and hurt playing across Bart’s face as Jaime rose up away from him, sitting back on his haunches. Jaime’s stomach twisted. Bart was letting himself be vulnerable with him. Letting his real emotions show as he felt them. That was a big deal, but Jaime didn’t feel like he _deserved_ it right then.

Jaime brushed a strand of hair away from Bart’s face. “I’ll be right back.”

Bart’s brows furrowed, gaze filling with frustration and fear. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” Jaime said, disentangling himself and getting off the bed.

He didn’t dare look back as he closed the door behind him.

He took another handful of breaths, splashing cold water onto his face and then leaning his arms heavily on the sink, letting the water drip off slowly.

The room was starting to spin a bit less, the lingering fuzziness slowly but surely making its way out of his system. He knew every bit of soberness creeping up on him would only mean a greater amount of mortification.

He’d _drunk called_ Bart. At nearly _two in the morning_. And then let things get so hot and heavy that Bart had started _begging_ him to go further.

Dios, what was _wrong_ with him?

 _You were missing the Bart Allen’s companionship, Jaime Reyes_ , Khaji Da piped up, making Jaime jump right out of his skin. Jaime scowled.

“Where the fuck have _you_ been this whole time?” Jaime snapped quietly. “Aren’t you the one who's supposed to talk me out of this kind of bullshit?”

_Negative, Jaime Reyes. Ever since our cemented partnership after being cleansed of the Reach, it has been this scarab’s purpose to assist in attaining goals deemed beneficial for your well being. Was it not ‘pleasure’ being exchanged between both you and the Bart Allen just now?_

Jaime groaned, digging his palms into his closed eyes. Oh por Dios, he was so moded. “I really, really don’t have the energy to explain this to you right now,” he huffed.

Part of him wanted to scream. Or cry. Or punch something. Anything to relieve the frustration and anger at himself crowding in his chest. He was going to lose Bart again just because he couldn’t keep a handle on himself and it was so _stupid._

A small, weaker willed part of him whispered that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, giving Bart what they both wanted, but the tidal wave of guilt and fear washing over him for so much as thinking it shut that up pretty effectively.

He dried his face off gingerly, glancing up at himself in the mirror. He frowned. “You said you were gonna do right by him, so stop being selfish and actually do it,” he muttered, as if daring himself not to chicken out.

He stepped quietly back into the room, glancing at his bed. Bart was frowning, sitting up with his knees scrunched up to his chest and his chin tucked in the crook of his elbow, tapping away at his phone with one hand. Jaime sighed inwardly, fairly certain that meant he’d wake up to Tim reading him the riot act later. Served him right, he supposed.

Bart lifted his head as Jaime drew closer, expression guarded again. Jaime leaned a forearm on the edge of the mattress, lightly tapping Bart’s ankle.

“Ven aqui, chiquito,” he said softly.

Bart hesitated, then placed his phone down, scooting shyly to the edge and letting his legs hang on either side of Jaime’s waist. Jaime took one more second to look into Bart’s uncertain eyes, then scooped him carefully into a hug. Tentatively, Bart wound his arms around Jaime’s neck, going pliant in his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime murmured after a moment. 

Bart tightened his arms a little possessively. “I’m not,” he muttered.

Jaime sighed. “I know.”

Bart pulled back to look at him, stubbornness written all over his frown.

“Bart, we _can’t_ ,” Jaime said before Bart could open his mouth.

“ _Why?_ ” Bart snapped, voice strained and laced with frustration. “Enlighten me, ‘hermano.’ _What_ _exactly_ is going to change so drastically in the next few months, huh? I’m not some idiot kid—never had the _luxury_ of being one! I _know_ what I want, and it seems pretty crystal clear to me that you do, too.”

“I didn't say you were, cariño," Jaime countered gently. He could give that much, could at least acknowledge that they were miles away from just ‘hermanos’ anymore and had been for a long time.

“Then _why_?” Bart choked, slicing Jaime open. “Jaime, I _hate_ this.”

So did he. But...

He took a breath, cupping Bart’s cheek. “I guess I’d just...I’d rather you be pissed at me _now_ then, I don’t know, resent me five years down the line because you flung yourself into something with me before you even had a chance to experience half the stuff I’ve already been able to go through,” he explained. “Once you’re done with school, you can be out living it up on your own if you wanted, figuring out who you are and who you wanna be once no one’s telling you what to do anymore. Plus, maybe having fun dating someone with _actual_ free time to dedicate to you instead of working and studying 24/7, which is what my life is gonna be if I get into med school.”

He looked at Bart imploringly, trying to find a way to explain that wasn’t going to come off the wrong way but unsure _how_ when Bart was looking so stubbornly at him like that.

He sighed. "Look, I know it probably doesn't seem like I'm all that different now compared to a couple years ago, but trust me, I _feel_ pretty different at twenty than I did at seventeen or eighteen, and I just…I don’t feel like you really _get it_ , yet. How many options are out there for you besides me, I mean. You’ve spent _so_ much time in the superhero bubble. And I know you have some friends from school too, but, one, you barely hang with them outside of class, and two, it’s still _high school_.”

How many times had Jaime seen it, his freshman year? High school sweethearts dropping like flies with every passing month due to too many shiny, new options, or long distance, or just plain growing up? What was he supposed to do if he lost him like that? If they ended up as a bad case of bad timing just because he couldn’t be patient?

Bart looked down, wiping the heel of his hand across his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you, guepardito, but I’m trying to look out for you,” Jaime said earnestly. “I’m never gonna be able to feel good about this in the long run unless I feel like we’re at least starting off on more equal footing, you know?”

Bart swallowed hard, trembling a little under Jaime’s hands. “Do you love me?” he asked shakily.

Jaime froze, taken aback. Bart dragged his eyes back up to Jaime’s, brazen despite the fear lurking in his voice and the wetness darkening his lashes.

Jaime opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words felt too big to squeeze their way out of his throat. If he let them out he’d never be able to shove them out of sight again, a permanent elephant in any room he and Bart would ever be in together.

Bart sighed, hands blurring too fast for Jaime to see. In the space of a blink, his tears were erased, his face set back into a neutral expression that made Jaime’s gut clench painfully.

“Right. Like you said. Guess we aren’t on equal footing,” Bart said.

_“Jaime Reyes, the Kid Flash is—”_

With a harsh breeze, Bart was gone, the ghost of his warmth lingering on Jaime’s arms.

Jaime blinked, brain taking a moment to fully register Bart’s absence as his heart sunk straight into the floor. He swallowed past the burning lump in the back of his throat, eyes falling closed.

It felt like moving through molasses as he hoisted himself back up onto the bed. Like the world had reverted to slow motion, overcompensating in its attempt to find equilibrium in the wake of a speedster having blown through.

With heat burning at the back of his eyes, Jaime yanked the covers up to his ears, curling in on himself, and buried his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hijo de papá = Rich kid (idiom)
> 
> Eres un patada en los huevos, ¿lo sabes? = You’re a pain in the ass (slang, literally: kick in the eggs), you know that?
> 
> Velocista = Speedster
> 
> Honestamente, ¿cómo entiendes a este conejo? = Honestly, how do you understand this rabbit? (conejo/conejito or rabbit/bunny, refers to a friend or family member who's fast paced).
> 
> ¿Conejo? Más bien un guepardo, ¿sabes lo que digo? Te acostumbras al cabo de un rato. Tengo razón, chiquito? = Rabbit? More like a cheetah, you know what I’m saying? You get used to it after a while. Right dude? (chiquito is a term of endearment for a male friend or family member who is smaller or younger than you).
> 
> Si tú lo dices = If you say so.
> 
> ¿’Ta bien? = Okay? (informal/shortened way of saying ¿Esta bien?)
> 
> Gordo = Fat/Fatty (can be used as an endearment among friends/loved ones depending on context [correct me if I'm wrong btw, this one still baffles me a little as a non-native speaker considering how loaded that term is in English])
> 
> Olvídalo = Forget it.
> 
> Dejalo = Quit it.
> 
> Sí, mira allí. = Yeah, look over there.
> 
> Guapo = Handsome
> 
> Mierda = Shit
> 
> Ven aqui = Come here
> 
> Cariño = Darling/honey
> 
> Like I've said before, I didn't want to bother incorporating much YJS3 stuff since most of this was written so long ago. That said, I did end up sprinkling a FEW small things here and there. Like, as soon as I saw that Traci Thirteen was going to be in S3, I knew I had to at least throw a reference/easter egg to her and her canon comics girlfriend in here somewhere. Maybe it was a stretch to think YJ would put Traci and Natasha together in YJ as well, but oh well. One can dream.
> 
> Might be a bit before I get Chapters 4-5 done. I'm hoping to finish the fic before the end of YJS3, but we'll see how it goes!
> 
> (Update 8/22: yeah idk why I bother to estimate these things, it'll get done when it gets done, lol. It's still going to be a while since I can't seem to write short chapters to save my life, but I promise I'm making progress! (: See you all once chap 4 does get finished.)
> 
> (Update 9/24: Realized I forgot how old the twins were at any given time, lol, so I slightly adjusted the scene between Bart and Iris with the twins at the correct age. Also recently did some super minor clean up for a couple things that I didn't think flowed as well as I wanted them to [mainly J&B's first kiss])


End file.
